


Flesh and Blood

by HadenXCharm



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dark, Diablo III AU, Fantasy, Ikkaku is a mysterious being meant to have no sentient thought except whoops, Ikkaku is basically newly born into an adult body with no knowledge of anything, M/M, Maybe because everyone I've run into until this point hasn't been a full-blood human..., Maybe live in this cabin in the woods with someone who might be a vampire and oh shit, Mystery, OOC Ikkaku due to his species but later he returns to his canon character, Romance, Unnamed Original Characters - Freeform, Wow how did i not notice that humans smell so delicious?, his master died, vampire and their lover seem to be going through some stuff right now, what the fuck does he do now??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HadenXCharm/pseuds/HadenXCharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long ago, powerful mages were able to summon dark followers that deferred unto their will through the use of blood magic rituals. Whether used as warriors or shields, these constructs were beings that lived and died as their master did, their purpose being only to serve. Ikkaku, however, awoke alone. . . Soon he becomes attached to a mysterious stranger named Yumichika who may know the answers. Hopefully Yumichika will let him stick around, because if not, he might just be completely outta' luck, especially with these weird cultists lurking around every corner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fresh Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ikkaku awakens alone in a crypt of some sort with no knowledge of this world or what he's meant to do or who he is. All he knows is that master is dead and he's alone and in pain and very very afraid. In his panic he finds a cabin in the woods, and begs a stranger for help... Maybe he can stay here until he learns more about this place...

" _Incomplete. . . No."_

He awoke in the darkness with a sudden gasp that wracked his whole body. Disoriented, it took a few moments for his body to slow its shuddery heaving. His insides felt weak and sick, so he clutched his gut tight with interlocked fists, as if he could press the bad feeling to the very bottom of his body.

When his breaths began to calm, he tried breathing through his nose for the first time and was met with the strong smell of flesh. . . Was that him?

A small moan left his mouth as he slowly lifted his forehead from the cold stone beneath him and drew up onto his knees, wobbling from side to side. Eyes drifting open, he flinched them back shut for a moment, bringing an arm up to block his face and almost toppling over in the process. What was rocking the room? No… no, he had no balance.

Slowly letting his eyes open, he saw small dancing lights around him, one in each direction, each one glowing yellow and close to the ground. His head was still spinning and so he brought his… his hands up to it to try to hold it still.

Hands…

He let out another noise, this one more distressed as he tried to get up and fell straight back down, some of the lights promptly going out. He heard a low cracked hiss from in front of him and raised his head up to try to detect the source.

Squinting and feeling around, he got onto his knees, wobbling and falling onto his back once more. Why couldn't he get up? What kept giving out beneath him? Opening his eyes and looking at his own body to see what on earth was wrong with him, he found two legs. He had legs… and… and arms. He looked at himself for a moment in quiet contemplation, spreading and unspreading his fingers several times. He touched his chest curiously, then put his finger inside a small dip on his tummy with mild amusement. He spread his legs apart clumsily, poking around. Belly-button, hip, knee. He was brand new!

He was wonderful and strong, and his skin was red and glowing. As soon as he made note of that, there was another quiet whimper and the glow died down. The color began to drain out of him and he was hit with another wave of sickness and _badness,_ and he flopped to the floor again, putting another light out.

When he rolled over and sat up once more, looking at himself again, he found that he was a. . . _beige_ color. This... this was new... and wrong.

He should get up and look around. He should prepare. Placing one foot on the ground awkwardly, he slowly pushed himself to an upright kneeling position, crawling forward outside of the circle of glowing white nubs and the red pattern smeared underneath where he'd been sitting.

He stood up on wobbly legs, swaying one way and then the other, but he didn't fall. When he tried to look around and stopped staring at his feet, he promptly fell on his butt, and it took another minute or so for him to pull himself back up. When he did, he held his arms out for balance and looked around.

He was in a room.

Noting this with mild surprise, he noticed stone walls and that he was not alone. Mounds and mounds of them were around him, piled up against the walls, accounting for the wonderful putrid smell. Fresh, very fresh. There were big ones and small; he'd never seen so many in one place. He'd, he'd never _seen._

A very very little one hung by its legs, opened up from its belly and still dripping. He held a hand out underneath its small head, letting the wet hair dangle above his palm. . .

_Drip, drip, drip._

' _Warm,'_ he thought, almost startling himself with it. He hadn't known… God, he'd never known.

He could move and think and feel. Well, sort of. . . What else could he do?

Looking down at his hands once again and then around the room, he took a few glances back and forth. These things had hands like him. Or rather, _he_ had hands like _them._

What are they?

He looked at another one more closely and touched a lock of hair very carefully, then reaching up blindly to his own head. . . nothing. He had no face either; if he did, he'd be able to see it, just as he could see the rest of his body. These things had faces though.

They were very quiet and still. What were they doing here? ... What was _he_ doing here?

' _What. . . what am I?'_

A weak wispy sound came from in front of him, and it registered as the same as his own shuddery breath. He turned to the noise, growing alert, pupils narrowing, everything inside him quieting down.

There. Movement. He was not alone.

"Master," he found himself saying. He hadn't known he could do that either, the noise almost startling him, but he didn't pay attention to that revelation now because for the first time since he'd awoken, everything seemed to make sense. This was what he was supposed to do with this strong body and simple mind. He was meant to serve.

He got to his feet immediately with no trouble at all and walked forward the few steps, then dropping into a graceful kneel. He lifted the hem of their dress and kissed it, then setting it back down. "Master," he repeated stupidly with eagerness, body tense and at attention.

' _Oh…_ '

It was strewn across the floor, limbs in all directions, one limp hand outstretched towards where he'd woken up. A frail creature, tall but very thin, curved but wasted away. The face was pale and beautiful, one small drop on the left cheek, which rolled down and made a red streak as he watched.

He remained genuflecting, waiting for something to happen, waiting for purpose, for compelling order, but none came – only forced raspy breaths that erratically moved the slender torso splayed in front of him.

A soft navy cloak, the hood over the face, long long brown hair, dark brown eyes. He felt so proud, elated even. Beautiful, they were beautiful.

But, there was one thing. . . The head was cracked right open, and the mess was all over. He looked on blandly at the wall behind, seeing a crack in the stone and a dark stain.

There came another raspy breath and he felt a spike of... of _bad_ along with the sound, unbearable prickling badness in his neck and head. Dismayed by the lack of orders and the bad feeling rather than the sight of crushed skull, he frowned harshly and reached out to touch.

He took both slim shoulders and lifted them up easily, and the head hung back, limp, baring the throat. Frowning and blinking down at them, he lowered them back down slowly, brow creasing. Somewhat disturbed by their silence since he could feel the fluttering heartbeat and the slowing thrum of blood inside of them, he prompted, "Master, I obey," once more.

". . ." A small erratic gasp, a heaving chest, twitching fingers. He reached out and placed a hand on their arm, fiddling around, frowning petulantly. He let his hand nudge against their cheek in a desperate call for attention, and then it became clear.

They weren't warm… They were… they felt like the stone on the ground under his feet.

"No," he whispered, his throat becoming tight, and something inside him quickened and felt sick. "No, _wait._ . ."

"... hh-"

The cold hand with the slim elegant fingers raised up to his face and ran over his cheek lovingly. He could feel the slight scrape of long nails but found no comfort. Looking back down upon that lovely face, his mouth drew into a ghastly expression of woe, throat constricting further.

"Master, I offer you my blood," he said desperately, holding his wrists forward as if begging them to take him, to take him instead. Not this, please not this.

There was a small smile, so pretty but so sad. "Don't go, please. . . I, I need you. . ." The fingers began to shake, the thumb stroking over his cheek. Another stuttering gasp for air, so so weak. Oh please, not this. Anything but this.

"Who am I? I have to know, please tell me," he begged, for without them, he was nothing and no one. What was this bad feeling building up within him. . . Was this what they called pain? _Fear?_

. . . Doubt?

Before... before it hadn't mattered that he hadn't known anything. Before, he hadn't felt this bad bad pain, and he hadn't worried, he hadn't worried for himself or anything. He'd been newly created and freshly born just a moment ago. The world had been wonderful and new, unmarred by bias or experience for a few glorious minutes, but now his everything, his _reason_ for being here was slipping away. What would he do? What would he do on his own?

He loved his master. He loved them, they were the most beautiful, the most skilled, the smartest, the best of any to ever exist, and he would throw himself on a sword for them, he'd crawl across the desert, he'd lay down his _life._ He lived for the sole purpose of carrying out their will. Who was he without them? What... what was he for? What was he meant to do? If they were to leave, he had to know.

His lip quivered as he begged on an unsure and shaky breath, terrified.

"Who... who am I?"

As he moved to hold their hand to his cheek, it fell from his face and hit the stone floor, bouncing once and then moving no more. He stared for a long long time as the eyes unfocused, and then there was horrible silence. There was no heartbeat, no blood rushing, nothing, just an absolute and deafening silence.

With a horrified wail of abject despair, he realized that they were dead. Master was dead. _He_ was dead.

He should be.

He grit his teeth with another quieter cry as tears ran from his squinting eyes. The grief was agony on its own, but apart from that, he felt as though he was being torn apart in a quite literal sense. He clutched himself and stumbled to his feet, burning all over.

He held his neck, rasping uselessly. He needed… oh, he needed something, but what was it?

Scrabbling at his throat for air, he took shuddering gasps, stepping forward once, then once more, finally crashing to his knees. The pain, oh the pain. He needed.

Blinded by tears and searching for comfort, he rubbed his hands around in the blood on the floor until it congealed. No, it was not enough. Then staggering towards a particularly large slain body, he desperately grasped at the largest gaping wound and thrust his hands inside. He grasped at rib cages and nearly severed limbs and ripped and tore and fisted his hands around organs, smearing the blood along the walls and the skin, all with a tense concerned countenance. He tried and tried, but it was not helping. She was gone. Master was dead and he was alone.

He let his hands fall limp to the floor, brokenly grasping at nothing as he stared at them, letting them rest in a sticky heap. He knelt there for a moment, staring and staring, body sinking into an absolute state of shock and uselessness.

Maybe if these people had been alive when he'd woken up, they could've helped him.

Letting his gaze drift to the side, his eyes lingered on a small shoe and foot, a sock that was now brown with dried blood. He gently pulled the little dress down over the skinny speckled legs and stroked them twice, blinking blankly.

He stood up, shaking all over, realizing dully that he was alone. _They_ were here, but they were gone like Master. He was all by his lonesome. He didn't know where he was, and he was alone. He didn't know where he should go, or even if he _should_ go. He didn't know where he was. What he was. Who he was. How he was here.

Nothing made any sense. Nothing was right. What he knew didn't make sense and what he didn't know seemed much more important. If Master were here, he would know then, he'd know what to do, what he was… what he was _for._

He hurt, he hurt all over and he needed help, he needed answers. He _ached_ for purpose.

He should not still be here. Master. . . She was gone, and he should not be here. He should be gone with her. He should be with her now. A sob crawled up out of him, a hysterical sad noise that echoed and died. In the ensuing silence, the badness and pain became unbearable, hot and agonizing.

Something began to speed up inside him, and he felt the urge to flee, to flee the hexagram and the candles and the sacrifices and the shrine. He had to run, he had to get out of here and find someone to put out this fire.

Pausing next to Master, he knelt down beside her one more time, staring for a long long time. Then he reached out with a shaking hand, hovering it over her motionless chest. He squatted there frozen for who knows how long. Finally, he gently turned her cloak around and covered her with it, unable to bear the thought of someone else looking upon her lovely cold face. He ran his hand through her long hair, straightening it beneath her before laying her back down. Then he ran, a hand over his face as he tried and failed at muffling a scared sob.

Where was he to go now?

He stumbled and hit himself against the wall several times, still getting the hang of bipedal motion as he wandered down a hallway that kept turning back and forth. He went in circles inside a larger room until he accidentally diverted paths and found himself outside.

There were no walls out here. There was… there was a silver coin in the sky. The air was cold and smelled like moss.

Shaking everywhere and hunching slightly, holding his stomach, he took a few unsure steps away from the doorway. Suddenly he pitched forward with a yelp, tumbling down stone stairs onto the ground, cracking some tiles.

Getting back up and looking around, he saw rows of spears, no… cast-iron gates left ajar, moving in the wind. There were black oily beasts with sharp faces staring at him, screeching at random; bats with quills. All around there was mist above the ground and large trees with large trunks and dry dry wood.

Looking behind him, he put one hand out towards the arch of the door, noticing a large stone box lifted out of the ground next to it. Walking towards it, he saw carvings and put his fingers on the lines, leaving behind red smudges. The wind was quickly drying his wet hands.

These looked like runes, like insignias. He absently brushed his chest, tracing out a pattern that he just. . . couldn't pin down. It felt like they'd been there only a short time ago.

She… She was gone. She was not coming back. He was alone.

He grit his teeth as that pain came back, sharp and hot, and it _hurt._ He did not like this. He was afraid and alone and in pain, and didn't know where to go, so he just started stomping away, occasionally pushing himself off of tree trunks to change direction.

He needed something. No, he needed to swallow. He was… he was thirsty, that was it.

Falling to his knees, small white insects fluttering away in the tall damp grass, he bent to a scummy puddle and dunked his head in. He found he could not breathe and that it was not quenching the thirst.

No, this was no good.

He got up and coughed and dripped and trudged on through the mire. He tried again at a crumbling old well almost covered by brambles, and again at a pond, even from mud, and by then he was almost running, gasping for breath.

He didn't know what he was, but some part of him inherently _knew_ that he had never been meant to hurt, or be afraid, or doubt anything he did, and yet here he was, being consumed, all because his master was gone and he had no one to be brave and strong and obedient for. He was being punished for letting Master die, and he was going to keep burning and burning until he atoned for his sins. He needed help, he needed someone to stop this.

He was desperate.

When he saw a light up in the distance, he shied away slightly but then found he did not care for the consequences and headed towards it. Someone had lit that light, and if he went there, then he wouldn't be alone. The woods around him seemed to howl and tear at itself as he ran and ran. He collapsed at the doorstep of a cabin and slumped against it, too tired to even knock, using the impact of his fall to alert whoever was inside that he was here.

He hurt so badly. Oh, he hurt, but not from any of the scratches or falls he'd had. He didn't even feel those at all. The pain of being torn in half, as though his heart was missing a chunk and the nerves were being twinged with each pulsation – that was too much to let him pay attention to anything else.

Humans though, humans were inherently good, weren't they? That is why their blood was used to balance out demon's blood, which was inherently evil. A human would help him. A human lived here surely, and if they came out here, they would help him.

"Let me in," he called weakly, his fist hitting the wood and sliding down. Not long after, he could hear footsteps, and he struggled to get up, to kneel and bow his head for when they opened the door.

The door opened, and he could see feet. However, the door slammed nearly shut again, almost immediately, and he looked up in surprise at the harsh noise. There was only enough space to let one eye peek out to stare at him. "Help," he gasped, reaching for the gap, wanting to come inside.

There was a vicious hiss then, "What happened to your clothes? Why are you naked?" That word meant nothing to him and he didn't know how to answer. . . _Should_ he have clothing?... He looked at himself for a moment, and then, suddenly self-aware, covered himself with his hands.

There was a quiet moment, and then the eye seemed to become less harsh, but still untrusting. "Was it cultists?"

"What? No." He shook his head, finding it hard to find words. "Help me," he begged, reaching out to them in a prayer gesture. They merely recoiled, closing the door to a mere crack with a noise of disgust.

"Oh, uhk- you're…" There was clear revulsion in that voice, which he accepted mildly, keeping his head humbly to the ground. "What are you doing here? Who are you?"

"I… I don't know." He pleaded for help then, begging and begging. The door opened slightly wider, revealing that there was no light within the house. He had no idea why he thought he'd seen a light in the window earlier. It was completely dark, and all he could see was the slight glint of that silver coin reflecting off the eyes of this person. . . bright intense eyes.

He stared, mouth hanging open for a moment, and then reached out to them again like he hoped they would pick him up.

"I have no time for this," they snarled cruelly, pushing him over with their foot. Forever disoriented, even the small nudge sent him rolling onto his back in the dirt. "Leave now. You are not welcome here." He shrunk in on himself, discouraged, but not willing to give up. He had no one and nothing in this plane of existence.

"Don't force me to resort to violence," came the high and authoritative threat, as if they clearly saw that he would not be turned away easily. "That wouldn't be good for either of us."

"Please, I… I am lost," he tried to explain, but how could he explain something he didn't understand himself? He tried to say that he didn't know where to go or what to do, but he was having a very hard time speaking, struggling over his words.

" _Be gone_ ," they hissed harshly. "Get back to who you belong to. I don't need them coming after me."

"No one will come! I promise!" he cried, huffing a dry sob, "Please, oh please!" He looked into their face for compassion, for desire he could fulfill, but found none. They seemed to find something on his face that was satisfactory however, because the door opened then.

Tall and blade thin, lithe and dangerous seeming, they stood there with their arms crossed, staring down at him. He bowed hurriedly, forehead on the ground, letting his fingers brush the toes of their boots. He was kicked off with a disgusted noise.

He clasped his hands and raised them slightly in hope.

There was a long moment of silence that was then broken by a distant howling.

"Very well," they said, throwing one arm to the side to gesture him into the house. "Enter." He looked up in surprise to them, still unable to see their face. "Well? Get in!" they snapped, jabbing him in the side with their foot.

He stumbled to his feet and got himself inside onto the floor, which he stepped over very carefully, as if it would break under him at any moment. It felt like slats under his soles, and they creaked each time he moved.

As he stepped past the threshold, he heard a sudden rustle and turned towards his kind, kind savior-human. They had stiffened up and were standing absolutely still. Their eyes were glowing somewhat in the dark, locked directly onto him, wide as they could go. They put a hand over their mouth and nose and stared at him, seeming horrified and frozen.

He just stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists nervously, then continued looking around, taking another few cautious steps around the room. "It's dark," he noted.

They didn't move other than throwing one arm out to shut the door and then do the latch. Only then did they move towards the far wall and make a light. He watched with amazement as the whole room flickered with an orange glow.

Simple furniture, knickknacks, a column in the wall with square red stones, boards for the floor, a plain door set in the corner of the back wall - it was a small cabin.

They turned back to him and then he could see it was a young man with dark hair. He was being stared at voraciously, and they kept rubbing at their nose quite roughly. Their face was so smooth and youthful, just like hers. No one was more beautiful than she was, of course, but she was gone, and this man was here.

He took a step closer, reaching a hand out, perhaps compulsively trying to touch them, but the man held up a hand sharply to halt him. "Stay right there." He stopped in his tracks, holding absolutely still, not even bringing his arm back down. He didn't even breathe.

The young man ran a hand through his hair and then covered his mouth and nose again with his fingers, staring at him contemplatively for a long long time. "Turn around," he said then. "Look at the mirror." He obeyed and breathed again, turning around towards the mirror, a full-length that was leaned against a wall.

"Oh," he said softly, it taking a moment to register that he was looking at himself, not fully capable of that level of self-awareness. "It's red." He looked at himself in the glass for a long time. "I'm red," he corrected himself. He began smiling at his reflection and looked down at his arms.

"You are _drenched_ in the stuff."

"Oh," he repeated, face falling in disappointment. Things were not all right again. She was dead. He would never be truly red again… Not without _her_.

"What happened?"

"I tried to…" He paused then, shaking his head. He didn't remember. "I don't know."

The man let the matter drop then, still staring at him with a piercing gaze - not at his face though; further down. He looked down at his belly to try to see what the man was looking at, confused. Becoming distracted, he touched his bellybutton again, humming. He had the feeling that it wasn't supposed to be there.

There came another noise of disgust, causing him to look up.

"You're going to wash and put on clothes, and then you're going to leave," the man said, walking past him with his hand tightly clamped on his face. "You hear me? You're going to go away from here and not come back. Yes?"

"Yes," he parroted obediently, just standing there, still slightly hunched, knees a little bent. He still didn't know if he liked this body. His throat still hurt and he was still scared, but it wasn't hurting as badly now and he felt much safer.

He looked back at the mirror curiously and brought a red hand up to his head, pleased to see the mirror-man do the same. Oh, look, he had a face after all. Just look at him. . . He smiled at himself, showing his teeth. He slowly explored, grunting occasionally, clumsily feeling and playing with his ears, then looking at his eyes.

_'Red. . .'_

He raised two fingers and went to poke the red spots, and then startled himself, screwing his eyes shut at the sudden jab. Blinking rapidly, he grunted again, losing interest and then going on to pinch his nose and bend it to each side. He then opened his mouth on reflex when he could not breathe.

"Oh Akarat, deliver me," came a low irritated grumble, drawing his attention away from the glass. He found that the man was looking at him still, and as he turned towards him, they gave a twisted sneer.

"Gods, you're horrendous," the man griped as he dragged a wooden barrel towards the middle of the room and then started another few lights along the wall. Then he pumped water into the barrel. "I can't even look at you. You're hurting my eyes."

Glancing back to the mirror questioningly once and then thinking over the words, he slowly looked down at his hand and then back to the man. Then he raised his hands to cover his own eyes, his sticky red palms blocking out the light. He could hear the man pause in what he was doing.

"Wh-" came the exasperated breath, "I can still _see you,_ you fool. Why would doing that help?" He then peeked out from between his fingers slightly, frowning a little.

"Stupid lummox," the man muttered, and he felt something inside him hurt. He felt… smaller.

He watched as the man wandered over to a chest and open a drawer, laying some clothes out on a table and then wrapping an extra shirt around his own face and tying it there. His big eyes were free and staring at him again with contempt, the rest of his face covered up. With only the eyes there, it occurred to him that the gaze was hateful.

This… this human didn't like him. They were unhappy that he was here. The sudden realization was unsettling. He was. . . he was horrendous? How did he stop?

"Well? Get in."

He started slightly, blinking and seeing that the man was holding his hand towards the barrel, which was really more of a wooden bucket big enough to get inside of. He stepped over to it and stared at it for a moment, and then tried lifting his leg, almost falling right over.

"Are you mad? Get in! Stop flopping about!" He tried again, not self-aware enough to be embarrassed by his helplessness, but displeased that he should fail. He tried once more, but to the same result. "Rrgh, _why_ do I have to-" With a huff, the man took a grip around his back, snaking an arm under both of his and holding him steady as he got in. Then he lowered him down, rolling his eyes.

He sat in the water, looking up and waiting for further instructions.

"Oh, you are hopeless. Like a useless delayed child," the man muttered, grumbling and grabbing something off a shelf and coming towards him, glaring.

He was rubbed roughly with a lump that felt like wax, and then he jolted and gasped like a fish when a bowl of water was scooped up and dumped over his head. "Be still," the man snapped, so he just coughed with his mouth closed and sat there passively.

He flinched a little as he was touched, but found that… it was pleasant. He was being scrubbed and scrubbed, splashed and splashed, and the red was indeed coming off. The more he was touched and moved around, the less loathsome he felt. Perhaps he had never felt nice before if this was such a new sensation, but this touch was nice and good and he supposed he liked it, even if his red was going away. "You filthy disgusting horrid thing," the man spat abusively, and he didn't say anything in reply.

There was a wet cloth in there now that the man was using to clean him. It was being put on his face and wiped around, water trickling into his eyes and nose. He snorted a couple times, but didn't move to rub it out of his eyes, holding still for the man. The scrubbing at the corners of his eyes was very rough, nearly grinding the skin away, but he stayed still, expression very mild. The movements slowed suddenly, the wiping becoming tender, and there was a quiet moment when he found that their eyes were meeting and holding there, big beautiful eyes, open and free, seeming thoughtful.

" _. . ._ Violet, _"_ he said stupidly, ending the silent moment, whatever it had been.

"Oh!" came the mortified gasp, "You are just _awful!_ " the man shrieked in offense, boxing his ear, but he just let him and didn't respond, blankly staring where those eyes had been a moment before, replaying the way they had gone wide and then enraged. "Don't say another word," the man hissed.

He didn't, allowing the man to keep scrubbing him. He offered one leg and then the other for inspection. There were continuous comments about how he was bloody and muddy and ugly and horrible, but he didn't say anything, the words going in one ear and out the other. They didn't mean much to him. What was anything when you didn't know who you were?

What he did know was that his throat still hurt. He'd taken several bad falls and he could see areas of damage on his body, but he didn't even feel them, though from the looks of it, he _should._ He hadn't felt that blow to the head just now, he hadn't felt the way his skin had been rubbed raw by that towel. He felt no pain there whatsoever. The only thing that hurt was his throat. He was still so thirsty.

He absently leaned forward and put his chin and mouth into the murky pink-grey water and took a big gulp, and oh, it… it was…

It was actually _soothing._

He looked down at it for no more than a moment before he took a big scoop of the water in his hands and drank and drank, slurping it into his mouth and swallowing, tasting sweet relief.

"Stop that!" the man snapped, smacking him right on the mouth, and he let his hands drop into the water with a plop, startled, just staring forward in surprise for a moment. Then he ducked his head slightly, perhaps in shame, not moving anymore unless he was told to lift his arms or stand or turn around.

"Put some strength in your legs, you heavy beast," the man ordered, hooking his hands under his slick armpits and hefting him to a standing position. Water ran off his body in rivulets as the man shook him a few times. "One foot out. Yes. The other now."

He stood on the floor, dripping, and found that his body was shaking, shaking, shaking _hard_. What was this? It was not quite a burning feeling, but it was intense, making his skin prickle. It felt like the stone floor from that room. It was... oh, he didn't like it.

"Stay right there, don't move," the man said, and he stopped shaking and stood still. He watched as the man slowly dragged the barrel towards the door and then outside, dumping it some ways away in the darkness and then leaving it out there. He came back inside and locked the door again, coming back over to him.

"Put these on now and leave, and do _not_ come back," the man said nastily, taking the shirt off from around his face. Suddenly, his eyes softened somewhat and he took a long refreshing breath. "Do you need me to show you how? I'll help you."

He nodded a little and stood there awkwardly and let the man dry him and then move his body into the clothes. They didn't feel good on his skin. He felt like he was in a cage. He felt like he had to... to _hide_ himself. He felt embarrassed; he didn't want to be looked at like this.

"I don't like them," he said bluntly.

"I don't care," the man replied, raising his eyebrows. "You nasty things ought to wear clothes. It's cruel to make you all wander around without them, although I suppose it's more practical."

He frowned.

"I'll give you some directions so you can find your way back to your home, how's that?" the man said, "But you must go. You cannot stay. I'm sorry."

"Please, I will repay," he promised, struggling on his words, speaking very sluggishly, "I will repay your kindness. I can please stay here, I will repay."

"You cannot stay," the man repeated, "I'm very sorry. . ." He sighed then, looking down for a moment and then up again. "What a face you have."

He blinked and looked back at him for a moment. Then he watched as the man walked towards the door and opened it, pointing him out. "You must go."

"I-"

They both fell silent as they heard trudging footsteps. Suddenly a dark shape was in the doorway and he stumbled back, staring uncertainly between the two men. "You lit candles," a new voice noted, and a handsome man took off his hood and closed the door behind him.

"Hello," he was greeted, and then the newcomer turned to the first man and said suspiciously, "You hate visitors."

"I do," was the short reply, and pointed eyes were sent in the new man's direction.

He just watched silently, wringing his hands. Suddenly, the man who'd just told him he had to leave took his shoulder and brought him to the table and sat him down, patting his shoulder, telling him he'd fix a meal.

The newcomer had dark hair too, but it wasn't straight and smooth like the first man's. It was spiky. He had claw marks on his cheeks and kept staring at him, his gaze growing more and more shrewd. "What were you doing out so late that you caught his attention, eh?"

"I was lost," he replied, sitting awkwardly in the chair, not letting his back touch it, poised as if he was ready to get up at any moment. He felt like he was perpetually waiting for something, perhaps still hoping that she would be there to tell him what to do – and he would be ready to get up and heed her command.

"And your name? Where do you hail?"

"I… ah," he stuttered, stuck, not knowing what to say. The first man intervened then, and he noticed that there was a size difference between the two. Not much, but it was there. The second man was thin as well, but taller and with broader shoulders and stronger arms. Even so, the smaller of the two seemed in charge.

"Shuuhei, you leave him be," was snapped as he rummaged around for plates. "I don't want to hear a word from you about this."

Whatever this Shuuhei seemed to have thought he'd seen had been confirmed by that statement, and he was outraged. "I thought it couldn't be true, but it is! What kind of disgusting sick filth is going through people's minds these days?"

"I know not."

"What on earth was going through _your_ head, bringing it here?"

"I didn't bring him here. He appeared on the doorstep."

"And you didn't send it away?"

"He would not leave."

"And you let it _in?_ Do you have a death wish?"

"Perhaps."

There was a lapse of silence after that, in which the two dark-haired men just stared at each other, each issuing a different type of challenge with their glare.

He just remained quiet at the table, not contributing, perhaps out of fear that they would turn on him rather than continue fighting about him. No. . . no, he was not afraid. Perhaps he just felt no motivation to do anything other than sit here and wait for a command. What reason did he have to be afraid, anyways?

With a long-suffering sigh, the newcomer groaned and tugged on his hair. "Of all the animals you've brought in, this by far is the worst," the man fretted, pacing wildly and glaring at him like he was something disgusting. He stared back, unblinking. The smaller man ignored them both for the most part, pouring wine into a glass and then drinking straight from the bottle, still rummaging and fixing some sort of meal.

"I don't care for your opinion on the matter. I'll do what I please." He took another gulp of wine. "You know better than most that I don't have to answer to the likes of _you."_

With a harrowed sigh, the scarred man dragged a gloved hand through his hair. "Well and good, but they're going to come for it, you know. What will you do _then?"_

"Kill them." The reply to that was a groan, which was staunchly ignored. "Then I'll be rid of them both in one fell swoop, and you will have to spend your nights with me again. Three birds and one stone. More of a boulder, really."

"And if they don't come? What, you're going to _feed_ it?" was practically _spat_ , "For _ever?_ You can't live like that!" At that, a hysterical sounding laugh rose in the man's throat as he fisted a hand in his spiky hair, tugging on it.

"Maybe I will." The first man was dangerously and deceptively calm, which seemed to throw the other even further into irritation.

"Feeding it will just make things worse! You've even put clothes on it; it's a total _waste,_ I tell you. It'll just cast them off once it goes back to where it belongs. This is a hopeless kindness. I don't know what you intend to accomplish other than assisted suicide."

The smaller man remained silent at that.

The scarred man sighed again, seeming more sympathetic and exhausted than before. "What did I tell you about taking in animals you don't intend to keep?"

The man turned then, slamming his hands down on the table, violet eyes glaring into that of the other man, who, from the sounds of it, seemed to live here too. "Speaking of animals, you smell like dog _._ "

". . ." Shuuhei seemed uncomfortable then, and had no words to defend himself with. "Yumichika, come now..." he tried to apologize, reaching a hand out for his companion, but this Yumichika that had scrubbed him in the tub and given him clothing just smacked Shuuhei's arm off course and leaned further across the table.

He bared his teeth challengingly and hissed, "Get out of my sight," glaring at him dead on until he backed down. Shuuhei sighed, let his hand drop, and went into the other room, closing the door.

Yumichika seemed to slump then, collapsing in the chair opposite his visitor and putting his head on the table, arms around it. He simply watched, brow then crinkling slightly in concern when he heard a sniff. He'd made that sound too when she had died. _'Sadness,'_ he noted, blinking in surprise.

Should… should he…

He looked at his wrists and held them out unthinkingly, but there was no response for a long long moment. Yumichika didn't even lift his head to acknowledge his offering, so he retracted his arms and let them lay in his lap, not knowing what he'd been doing.

Finally Yumichika looked up, wiped his face once, and then got to his feet, continuing with what he'd been doing. His voice betrayed nothing, steady and cold as ever. "I apologize for the lack of decorum in this house… It's all to do with that wretched coven he's joined. It's no wonder he doesn't like to see something such as yourself here. You've put him at malcontent."

"He does not like me," he noted somewhat thoughtfully. Yumichika turned to him and rolled his eyes, seemingly with it being meant for Shuuhei. It became clear then that Yumichika was allowing him to stay, and it was out of pure spite for this Shuuhei person.

"You pay him no mind."

"He wants I should leave," he went on, paying it mind. He did not want that Yumichika should be unhappy. He did not know for what reason, but he held that desire that he should please Yumichika and ensure that he was not unhappy.

"He wants you should die," Yumichika said bluntly.

"I should," he said, tone ghastly. He dug his nails into the tabletop.

"Pay him no mind," Yumichika repeated firmly, putting a plate down in front of him. His fingers relaxed from the wood as he merely stared at the plate for a moment, then looking up to Yumichika's face.

Yumichika sat down across from him and poured himself another glass of wine, sipping and staring at him for a bit longer. "Well?" he prompted, "Are you going to eat?"

He looked down at the plate and the hunk of meat on it, not quite understanding, taking a moment to process it all.

"I ran out of wood before it was fully cooked, but it should be fine for you. Will you eat?" He was silent for a moment more, and Yumichika prompted him again to fill the quiet. "You do not have to, but I'd like you should try it at least. Go on and try it."

With that, he picked up a piece of it in his hands and raised it to his mouth. He looked to Yumichika for some sort of reassuring sign, but found nothing. He took a large bite, moisture gushing through his mouth as he dug his teeth in and tore a hunk off, then wolfing it down without hardly chewing.

Deciding it was satisfactory and even pleasurable, he began gorging himself. Forgetting all else other than feeding, he used both hands to pick up meat and bring it to his mouth, cramming his cheeks full and nearly choking himself as he gulped the food down. As he did so, he made several unsavory noises and then sucked the red juice from the plate with relish. All throughout, Yumichika sat across from him with his fingertips together, smile growing wider and wider.

He set his plate down slowly then, his mental faculties returning at a slow pace as the haze of eating died away. The burn in his throat was all but gone, and if he didn't know better, he. . . Something felt different inside. There was just a shadow of understanding, just a small glimmer amongst the nothingness and purposelessness he felt within.

"Ikkaku," he suddenly said, the word coming out as uncontrollably as if he'd just vomited. He actually brought a hand up to feel his mouth, as if he could feel what had let that slip out. . .

What... What did that word mean?... It... It was on the tip of his tongue.

"What?" Yumichika replied, brow creasing in subdued alarm. It happened again. The answer just came out without any thought in response to the question.

"I am Ikkaku," Ikkaku said earnestly, and after the words came out, he'd never been more sure of anything.

Yumichika folded his hands then, setting them on the table, giving him an appraising look. "You have a name. How quaint." He appeared amused then, smirking slightly with an eyebrow raised. "Seems a waste of time, doesn't it? Who gave you that name?"

"Ah…" He thought for a moment, feeling somewhat dazed as he tried to recall why he was so sure that he was who he was now. Before, he'd been trapped in fog, unsure of his purpose, unsure of anything. He still didn't know where or who he was, but he was sure of his name. The only place he assumed it could've come from was his master, but she'd never spoken to him. She'd died before saying a single word to him.

So where had the name come from? She hadn't given it to him, had she.

Ikkaku blinked several more times, staring, his mouth and jaw still wet from his messy eating. "Well?" Roused, he looked up to Yumichika, still feeling somewhat dazed.

"Thank you for the meal," he said, suddenly feeling the ghost of compulsion within him, just a small whisper telling him what he was meant to be doing. He stood up from his chair and then bowed to Yumichika on one knee. "What would you have me do?"

He knelt there for a long long time with his head down. He didn't know what he'd expected to happen, but _nothing_ was happening. He didn't feel fulfilled at all, and the longer Yumichika remained silent, the more lost he felt.

Finally he looked up, despairing somewhat, expression wretched. He felt compelled to cry out 'tell me what to do!' but nothing made it past his lips as his eyes searched Yumichika's expression.

Yumichika was giving him a spooked look, having gotten to his feet, standing in front of him in a stance that looked as though he were ready to flee. His purple eyes were searching him just as closely, his lips pressed together and his cheeks having gone pale. Dark hair spilled forward from where it had been curled behind one ear, adding to his haunted appearance. Finally he said slowly, as if the answer was imperative but also terrifying, "Just where does your allegiance lie?"

Ikkaku's mouth hung open as he looked up at Yumichika's face, hands dangling uselessly as his shoulders slumped. He… he didn't know what to say, or what to do… he just didn't know. He didn't know the answer, and... it wasn't coming out like those other responses had. What a question to ask, anyhow. How was he meant to answer a question such as that?

Yumichika seemed to take his silence as a sign that he had no answers and let the matter drop, crossing his arms. "I see. . ." He relaxed somewhat then. "We'll talk later. You've had a hellish day."

Then he walked past him and left Ikkaku kneeling there on the floor. He stared at the wall for a few moments in blank surprise before finding the strength to get up without an order. Standing there somewhat uselessly, not knowing what to do with himself, he watched as Yumichika pulled clothes and fur onto the floor and arranged it into what looked like… a nest.

"You may rest here," Yumichika finally said, going back for his wine and taking another long drag, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "In the morning, you're going to go back to where you came from."

Ikkaku was silent for a moment. Back to that room with the corpses? He didn't want to go there again. There was nothing there for him. No, he should stay here, here with Yumichika. Yumichika could tell him what to do. Yumichika could take care of him until he understood what to do with himself, until he realized what his purpose was among the humans.

He… he found he liked this one. He was bigger than Yumichika, and Yumichika wasn't very nice to him and didn't seem to like him much, but Ikkaku didn't want to leave. Yumichika was authoritative, and Ikkaku's needy soul desired that guidance, feeling that it gave him strength back.

He looked at Yumichika carefully for a long time as he came back and stood next to the table and tapped his foot. Yumichika then sat down again to rest and sipped his wine.

"You don't talk much, do you?" Yumichika pondered, gazing at him contemplatively. Ikkaku shook his head, clenching and unclenching his fists, still staring back mildly, taking in the whole of Yumichika's being for what it was. "Why not?"

"'Don't say another word,' you told me. I obey," Ikkaku repeated, the words just coming out with no thought once again. Yumichika looked uncomfortable then, but only just.

"Yes, but then how is it you've been replying to me since then?"

"Because I will not ignore a question," Ikkaku said somewhat curiously, wondering where these responses were even coming from. It wasn't as though he'd planned them, but they were coming out. Before, anything that had come from his mouth had sounded stupid and boorish, simple short sentences or single words that he'd have to truly think about for some time, but these were clearly enunciated replies that were escaping without conscious thought.

"But other than that, you're not going to speak?"

". . . No."

"But I'd like to know what you think." Ikkaku was silent. Yumichika tried again. "I'd rather you speak, Ikkaku. Speak to me. . ." Ikkaku stared, lips parting at the sound of his name. Yumichika urged him once more, "Will you speak?"

"Yes," he acknowledged. Yumichika seemed satisfied with that and leaned his elbows on the table. Ikkaku remained standing there, watching him.

The little flickering lights were dancing upon Yumichika's face, and Ikkaku found he could not stop looking at him. His hair was dark and his eyes were such a rare color, that of which he'd never seen. Such an elegant slender body, and his voice, so smooth.

Ikkaku kept looking at his face, his head tilting to the side in wonder. "You're beautiful," he found himself saying, making the observation very simply and honestly.

Yumichika blinked, face going slack for a moment, but then he smiled, hands laced under his chin. "Hmm," he laughed, smiling as if he thought he was an adorable child, his eyes hooded.

The door in the corner, having opened a moment before, was sharply kicked ajar. Ikkaku turned his head at the noise, seeing Shuuhei standing there in the doorway, holding an axe, shaking. He looked angry, and was glaring at… at _him._

He looked quite menacing, but Ikkaku simply stared at him blandly, noting that the man appeared violent.

"Shuuhei," Yumichika said warningly, but Shuuhei simply snarled, staring Ikkaku down.

"You _dare,"_ he growled, stepping forward, snapping the axe against the doorframe sharply and letting it stay stuck there, shaking the house's foundation. Yumichika jumped; Ikkaku did not. "You _dare_ to… to-" His face was pink and furious. Ikkaku just looked at him. "You don't deserve to kiss his feet, let alone be so bold as to- . . . If you even think of touching him, I'll-"

Yumichika cut in then, "Shuuhei, really. I doubt that was his intent."

Shuuhei turned on him then. " _Really_ , Yumichika. You're just gonna' let it talk to you like that? You'll let it think it's okay to address you directly and make advances? It's probably some sick message from whoever sent it here!"

"These things don't work that way and you know it," he replied, completely calm.

"I don't care, this is _perverse_ _,_ and you're _mad_ if you think that- that it's _charming_ or something for it to lust after you!" Shuuhei spat, then rounding on Ikkaku again.

"And you, you're gonna' catch hell, you sick thing, makin' eyes at him like you're on equal standing." Shuuhei strode over and cuffed Ikkaku upside the head, knocking it to the side. Ikkaku just looked at him once his brain stopped rattling around, not really feeling the blow or any desire to retaliate or shrink back. He just watched on almost curiously, as if he were an outside observer.

"If I see you looking at him again, I'm gonna' castrate you," Shuuhei hissed, yanking on his ear, looking truly menacing. Ikkaku blinked, eyes drifting towards Yumichika. Shuuhei grabbed his chin and dragged it towards him to make him look at him. "Do you understand me? I'll cut your balls off like an animal and send you away without them. See how happy whoever you serve is when they see _that._ "

" _Hisagi Shuuhei_ , that's _enough_ ," Yumichika said delicately, but with an undertone of violence. "You know well not to cause him harm. Let not a single drop of his blood be spilt."

Shuuhei looked at him for a moment, exasperated and enraged, "But-!" Yumichika's glare hardened, and it became clear to Ikkaku who the alpha was around here. The air was charged with it. Shuuhei swallowed and hunched his shoulders, backing down, giving Ikkaku one last shove as he released him. Ikkaku flopped onto the table, unbalanced, struggling to sit up straight again, still not saying a word. Yumichika and Shuuhei continued to stare each other down, the tension palpable, but it was clear who had won.

"Aye," Hisagi grit out, lurching forward and grabbing the plate Yumichika had made for him and then going to bed after he yanked the axe out of the doorframe and closed the door.

"You just pay him no mind," Yumichika said quietly, looking ten years older for a moment. "Don't be frightened."

Ikkaku nodded balefully. He wasn't. It occurred to him then that he should've been with that man in his face like a mad dog, but the reaction was delayed. Even being hit in the head, he hadn't felt a thing. He'd just known that Yumichika had let him stay and that this was where he was supposed to be, and no pain could reach him, nothing could strike fear into his heart of hearts. For today at least, he was sure that he was meant to be here, and there was nothing that could make him doubt that.

Yumichika put him in the bed on the floor and laid the covers on top of him. Ikkaku just stared up at him, not moving, watching him.

"Sleep now," Yumichika said softly. Ikkaku lay there for a while, blinking. "What, you can't sleep? Close your eyes." Ikkaku closed his eyes.

After what seemed like forever, Ikkaku spoke tentatively, "For how long?"

"Until morning. Until you fall asleep." Ikkaku didn't respond, closing his eyes again. Yumichika let out a little sigh and seemed to stand up and walk around him. Ikkaku heard a door open and opened his eyes to observe the noise, wanting to know where Yumichika was going.

Shuuhei was there in the doorway again, bare-chested, seeming to have been pacified from his earlier rage. Yumichika came towards him to pass by. "I don't like it," Shuuhei muttered, glancing towards Ikkaku a few times where he rested on the floor. Yumichika did not reply.

Then he sighed, chin dipping down slightly towards the smaller man. "My Yumichika, ever the bleeding heart," he said lowly with a bittersweet smile. Shuuhei then reached out for him as Yumichika attempted to pass by into the other room, clearly meaning to embrace him, but Yumichika just said 'don't touch me, please,' ever so quietly.

Ikkaku watched as Shuuhei's hands lingered in the air and then fell, his expression saddening as Yumichika walked by him without another glance. Shuuhei looked to him once and then frowned, shutting the door and leaving him in darkness.

He heard a creak in the other room and then stillness other than a far off howl. Then he closed his eyes and didn't open them again for a long long time.

* * *

_We commit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes; dust to dust._


	2. Dead Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems like amazing Yumichika is allowing him to live with him, even if only to spite that Hisagi character. Hopefully Ikkaku will be able to please him! However, one of the tasks he is charged with gets him into a bit of trouble, and he starts to wonder, is there someone after him? Everyone seems to know who and what he is except for him, but it doesn't seem like he's any closer to the answers just yet... All he's discovered is that he has a taste for violence... and blood.

The house was quiet for a long long time, and Ikkaku spent most of the long expanse fidgeting just slightly and making random humming and mumbling sounds, puffing his cheeks out and feeling around his body, occasionally playing with his lips and biting himself and trying to touch these tickly things attached to his eyes. He particularly liked spreading his toes apart and wiggling them. Sleeping was nice. It was very quiet and peaceful – well maybe a little too quiet. Perhaps that's why he kept making noises to himself so he wouldn't think he was alone.

Finally, _finally_ , he heard a creak and lie still immediately. Light footsteps, almost entirely inaudible, tread around him, and he lie absolutely still. There were small clinking sounds and rustles, just little noises that came with Yumichika moving about inside the house. Ikkaku knew it must be Yumichika. That Shuuhei's footfalls were much heavier, and if it had been Shuuhei, he probably would've come and kicked Ikkaku on the head. That Shuuhei didn't like him. Yumichika didn't like him either, but he'd been kind at least. Ahh, Ikkaku wanted to be allowed to stay. Maybe if he was extra good and helpful Yumichika would change his mind and let him stay a little longer.

Ikkaku eagerly awaited Yumichika's attention, ready to see him and heed his commands for the day, but he remembered what had been said last night and dutifully kept his eyes shut. Oh, but it was so hard! He wanted to see him! What was he doing over there so quietly?! Didn't he need Ikkaku yet? Didn't Yumichika see how good and obedient he was being?

There was a scraping sound against the floor and a quiet sigh, small sips, a long period of silence. Ikkaku could hardly contain himself. He should not just be laying here! He had to… to do _something_ , he had to get up and be at attention! He had to show Yumichika that he could be useful to him!

He heard a few more footsteps and felt a presence above him, a gaze on his face. Then there was a soft touch on his shoulder. "Wake up," came a very quiet voice. Ikkaku opened his eyes immediately, looking up at Yumichika's face.

He was holding a cup that had smoke rising from it and was watching him; he seemed troubled in some way, probably because Ikkaku hadn't yet gotten up to attend on him. Ikkaku still just lay there, not having moved at all other than letting his eyes open. Did Yumichika need him now? Why was he unhappy? Ikkaku had obeyed his request perfectly, hadn't he?

"Did you sleep at all?" Yumichika asked, sounding disappointed.

Ikkaku, eager that Yumichika should know that he was _not_ a disappointment and that he had obeyed him to the fullest, said, "Yes, I kept my eyes shut as you asked, Yumichika-denka."

Yumichika leaned back, and Ikkaku sat up and pulled himself clumsily onto his knees. He was being looked at skeptically and with a hint of surprised embarrassment. Yumichika seemed mortified. What had he done? He cocked his head confusedly. "What is that?" Yumichika asked slowly.

He meant to say that he didn't understand, but what came out was a bewildered mumbling noise.

"You cannot mean to call me 'Denka' like that," Yumichika said flatly, unable to look him in the eye, fingers flitting about nervously. Ikkaku put his fists on top of his thighs, leaning forward with zeal, eager that Yumichika should know he respected him and loved him. Yumichika was kind, very kind and nice and Ikkaku wanted to please him. He wanted Yumichika to accept him as his ward and keep him. Ikkaku didn't know what else to do but to stay here and make Yumichika happy. He yearned for guidance.

"Should I call you as Yumichika-dono instead? Or Yumichika-sama, or Yumichika-master, or kind-Yumichika who has helped me so?" Yumichika waved a hand to stop him, and Ikkaku just watched his face for a sign, head tilted to the side, eyes wide and observant.

Yumichika gave a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Who told you it was alright to decide that you're in my charge?"

Ikkaku bobbed his head, rocking back and forth slightly, practically bursting with energy. "If I can please stay here, I will serve! I will serve and be your ward! Take good care of me please out of the goodness of your heart!" He then put his forehead to the floor, causing a dull clunking sound.

"Don't you 'o-sewa ni narimashite' me or put your head to the floor. That sort of pitiful humbleness doesn't move me."

Ikkaku's head popped up a bit, mouth ajar. Yumichika's expression was firm. "Ikkaku, I am _not_ your master."

Ikkaku, unable to accept that one way or another – that Yumichika was replacing _her_ or the fact that Yumichika would not accept him – begged, "Please, tell me what I can please call you!"

Yumichika gave him a long thoughtful look, blinking several times, face unreadable. Finally he said, ". . . Yumichika-shi is fine."

Ikkaku's expression fell as he looked at Yumichika in wonder. Such a cold impersonal name to call him, but still respectful enough that Ikkaku could make himself use it. Anything Yumichika wanted, he would do, just as long as he would be allowed to stay here.

Yumichika stood up then, walking over to his cabinet and getting some plates out. Ikkaku tried to follow him with his eyes, but at a certain point, Yumichika went out of view and his eyes ached from trying to look farther. "Get up. Get ready for the day."

Ikkaku unfroze in a jolt and scrambled onto his front, kicking his legs free from the blankets and staggering to a standing position. Then he bolstered his fists and said, "I'm ready!"

Yumichika sighed with a smile that he looked like he was trying to get rid of. "I mean wash your face and eat something. Take off your clothes and put on the ones I've laid out for you."

"I will, Yumichika-shi." Yumichika groaned at him and ignored him after that. Ikkaku went about his business, stomping his feet heavily and making repeated grunting noises. He took about ten minutes to change into what Yumichika had provided him. The pants were easy enough, but he'd gotten his shirt stuck over his head and, not quite knowing what to do without being able to see what he was doing, had just remained in there for a few minutes thinking until he'd finally freed himself and put his arms through the right holes. Then he splashed his face with water when he was given a bowl of the stuff.

Then he sat at the table and quietly ate a piece of bread, dripping everywhere. Yumichika didn't comment on how ready he looked. He must've been pleased and had no field notes on Ikkaku's performance.

At that point, Hisagi came out of the back room, bare-chested and sleepy-eyed. His pants hung low on his hips, unbelted. As he made a pass around the table, he noogied Ikkaku's head with his knuckles, greeting him somewhat congenially with a yawn. "Hey, ugly."

Ikkaku was knocked forward into his eggs and sat there in his plate for a moment, then picked his head up. Hisagi slung his arm around Yumichika's slim shoulders with another yawn, standing behind him and resting his head against his as he stood at the counter and wiped some plates clean.

Ikkaku used his arms to wipe his eggy-face and kept eating his bread, then a handful of eggs. Yumichika put a fork in his fist and guided his hand once to show him how to use it, before he turned away again. Hisagi didn't let him go and just drifted around with him, still holding him with his droopy eyes almost shut. Yumichika completely ignored him.

Finally Yumichika raised a hand up and patted the side of Shuuhei's face, whispering something and kissing him without his lips actually touching his cheek. Ikkaku kept chewing, blinking his eyes and watching them with his head tilted sideways.

Shuuhei then grinned, snickering, whispering back and squeezing Yumichika one more time before letting go and grabbing a shirt of his own, stripping his pants off and changing those too. He scrubbed his face, packed up a meal, and swatted Ikkaku's head again as he passed by with another comment about keeping his eyes to himself, although this sounded much more light-hearted than last night's threat of castration.

Once Shuuhei had gotten his boots and cloak on, he bid Yumichika goodbye with a kiss and was off, opening the door, letting in a fierce flash of _brightness_ that caused Ikkaku to cry out and fall out of his chair. Yumichika went and latched the door once it closed, blocking the light out.

Ikkaku rubbed his eyesockets fiercely, whining and sulking on the floor. All the blinds must have been drawn and keeping that horrible light outside. That had been awful! Brighter than fire! Ahh, his eyes hurt…

"You're all wet and dusty now," Yumichika's scolding voice said, distracting him. He let out another whine and tried to get up, whacking his head on the table. "Oh!" Yumichika gasped, but Ikkaku just sat down hard and then tried to get up again, standing and swaying once, before steadying himself.

"Are- Are you alright?" Yumichika asked somewhat apprehensively, and Ikkaku nodded a lot of times, smiling, wiping his eyes one more time. Yumichika was quiet for a few moments, his brow creased, and Ikkaku stared back at him, smiling pleasantly. "Change your shirt," Yumichika said then, simply peeling it off Ikkaku before he could get stuck in it again.

Yumichika nudged him away then to go put on his dry shirt, and Ikkaku stomped over to the middle of the floor, sat down and put his head inside it, then getting his arms through backwards. "Turn it around. Pull your arms in and then turn it around."

Ikkaku did, then sat forward on the balls of his feet and rocked back and forth, looking at himself in the mirror again. He didn't know if he liked these clothes. With these on, he couldn't see most of the beautiful body that Master had created. Ah, but Yumichika wanted he should wear them, and he couldn't bear to disobey. Hmm, look at this mirror-man, he was so perfect in every way – master was so smart and skillful, look at what a good body she'd made for him. He tilted his head to the side and then the other side to watch the mirror-man copy it. Then he smiled for a moment, showing his teeth.

' _Ugly.'_

His smile changed to a frown as he was suddenly made very self-aware and conscious of his appearance. He reached up and touched his cheeks, frowning more and more as he looked at himself. When he'd been born, he'd appreciated the strong body Master had given him, the lean musculature, the toes and fingers and the weirdo belly-button that shouldn't be there. He'd been beautiful and perfect for all that time.

But. . . Hisagi had said he was ugly.

Ikkaku frowned and frowned, something feeling bad in his stomach. He was… _unhappy_ about that. Was this the truth? Was he horrible and awful and rotten? Yumichika… Yumichika had called him bad names last night too. Was this what he was? Was this the truth? This couldn't be how he was. She had made him for… for…

Never mind what she'd made him for, she'd made him, and she was his Master. She never made mistakes. The only mistake he'd made was allowing that beautiful red to go.

He would change the mirror-man, make him look how he truly should be, how he knew he was. He'd be perfect again. Red and perfect as the moment he'd been born.

Ikkaku kept looking in the mirror, reaching out his fingers hesitantly, surprised when they hit something solid. His fingertips were being blocked by the matching ones of the mirror-person. He looked at his fingers for a moment and then tried again, banging his hand up against it, pressing on it, but each time, he'd be kept out by identical hands. This skin didn't feel like Yumichika's though. This felt like stone; it chilled him.

Dismayed, he frowned harshly. If he could not change, he must at least know what Yumichika's thoughts were. Yumichika knew. Yumichika must know. Yumichika knew how to do everything and had the answers.

"Yumichika-shi," he called thoughtfully, picking at the splintery floor somewhat sulkily, "Am I. . . ugly?"

"Yes. Horribly ugly," Yumichika replied immediately.

"Mm," Ikkaku acknowledged, blinking at his reflection, tilting his head once more with a blank look. He still didn't see it. He still looked beautiful and perfect, but he was starting to have doubts. Hisagi and Yumichika both thought he was ugly and wrong, they'd both struck him and cursed him. Maybe they were right. Maybe looking at him was bad and made them hate him.

"I will cover my face for you," Ikkaku said solemnly, causing Yumichika to look up sharply, seeming troubled.

"It's not your face," he said shortly, "Your face is quite handsome."

"Oh." He blinked. "Then why?" He had to know.

"Perhaps it's because you look different… or perhaps it's the knowledge of what you are that's ugly."

". . ." Ikkaku contemplated that for a moment, sitting there staring. ' _What I am?'_

"Come eat, I know you must still be hungry," Yumichika said then, drawing him out of his simple boorish thoughts. "Shuuhei is out chopping wood. He'll be back soon." Ikkaku came to the table, back to his plate of eggs, only to see Yumichika lay a large strip of pork belly on top of it.

Ikkaku eagerly took a bite, scarfing it down as Yumichika sat down across from him with a plate. Yumichika raised an eyebrow at him and Ikkaku closed his mouth, cheeks bulging, and made an effort to pick up his fork again, merely stabbing the meat a few times, shaking the table with each repetition.

Yumichika looked at the ceiling, sighing through his nose. "Akarat, grant me patience," he mumbled under his breath. Then he reached across the table and slid the plate out from under Ikkaku's fist, causing him to stab his fork directly into the wood and get it stuck there.

Ikkaku poked the fork handle once and stared at it, then twanging it again. Then he became preoccupied with watching Yumichika cut his meat for him with the side of his own fork. He felt so unnatural and out of place in this strange, strange world, and Yumichika seemed to know everything so seamlessly. If only he knew how to live here and survive as Yumichika did. If Yumichika would let him stay, maybe he could teach him how to be. Maybe then he'd learn and know.

There were a few silent moments only broken by caws of birds outside and Yumichika's fork clacking against the plate.

"Denka?" Ikkaku asked softly in a thoughtful tone.

Yumichika sighed again, stalling in his motions, seeming horribly embarrassed. "I wish you wouldn't call me that."

"Yumichika-shi is cold, like you want that I shouldn't know you, " Ikkaku said wistfully. It was still awkward and hard to talk, but he did his best. "I want to please know you very well. You've been so kind to me."

"I've been no such thing," Yumichika replied bitterly, continuing with cutting his meat into small, small pieces. Ikkaku wouldn't even have to bite those – he'd probably be able to gulp them down whole! He frowned a little as the plate was pushed back in front of him. "Just call my name as it is," Yumichika insisted then as he leaned forward and yanked the fork out of the wood, placing it back in Ikkaku's hand.

"Mm." Ikkaku stabbed a piece of meat and held it in front of his face, scrutinizing it balefully, then sticking it in his mouth and biting down on the fork. He withdrew it, scraping his teeth, then chewing on the meat square and swallowing it. This fork was bad. Forks should have _three_ prongs, not four.

Why… did he know that?

Ikkaku stared at his food.

"What were you going to ask?" Yumichika prompted when Ikkaku made no move to speak. It seemed like Yumichika didn't like the quiet very much.

Ikkaku set his fork down, dismayed. "What am I to do now, Yumichika-shi? What should I do?" he asked, crestfallen and hopeless, "I feel so lost."

Yumichika's eyebrows slowly, _slowly_ pushed together in bemusement. "Hm," he acknowledged, as if this was something worth noting. He crossed his arms and put a hand to his chin, drumming his fingers against his lips. "Strange."

"Strange why?" Not strange how. He knew why he didn't feel at home in this world. He knew how it had come about. Master was dead and he knew nothing. The person who'd been meant to teach him everything and take away any responsibility for him to think for himself was gone.

Yumichika gave him an appraising look, then went on to say delicately with furrowed brow, "You were created with intent." He tapped his fingers against his mouth again, shaking his head minutely, "Dark purpose. You should know what that purpose is from the moment of your… _birth_." Then he stood up and turned in one motion, waving a hand flippantly. "I assume something went wrong. Cultists these days are such amateurs. 'Feh."

Ikkaku, not understanding what Yumichika was getting at, cut to the heart of the problem. "I don't know how to live. I don't know what to do with myself. I need you, I need you so you can show me."

Yumichika sighed, sitting down with more meat on his own plate, eating for a moment and then dropping his fork and shoving the entire plate aside. He set his arms on the table, staring at Ikkaku dead-on, obviously thinking.

". . ."

". . ."

Yumichika took a breath then, nodding to himself. "You must harvest," he said, not elaborating. "I've decided I'll procure what you need in exchange for work."

Yumichika was letting him stay! He was letting him be useful! "Yes, as you command," Ikkaku said immediately, eyes wide, smile wide and manic.

"No," Yumichika cut him off, "No, no, you just say 'I will' or 'I won't.' You already answer to someone, and that someone's not me." He spread his hands apart. "You choose. Would you like to accept this deal or not?"

"I. . ." Ikkaku struggled, stomach clenching and pupils shrinking as he tried hard to do what Yumichika was asking, which was to _not_ do what he was asking- "Yes," he said in a small voice, letting his mouth close with a _clack_ to cut off the rest.

"'I would' or 'I won't,'" Yumichika insisted, brow pinching.

"I would," Ikkaku choked out, digging his nails into the table.

Yumichika looked at him for a long, long time, finally giving a hum. "No pain, no fear, and no doubt, but you're different…" He blinked a few times, seeming horribly confused. "Where is your master? Why are you wandering alone? Where has your master gone?"

Ikkaku breathed through his teeth several times, rocking back and forth in his seat, making a forced grunting sound.

"Your father, I mean," Yumichika amended. Ikkaku looked up then.

"… My… my father?" he repeated, feeling and sounding more lost than ever. Where was he, what was he, who had left him behind to feel this way? Who had left and created this gaping black hole inside of him? How could he fill it? How could he cope?

"Your mother then," Yumichika pressed.

Ikkaku lowered his eyes to the tabletop, breathing slowly. That word seemed to resonate within him and tell him that he _should remember_ something _._ "Mother… is gone," he said, his words dull and sad.

"How can that be?" Yumichika asked, confused, "No, that doesn't make any sense. You're only separated from her, surely."

" _Dead,_ " he croaked.

"No," Yumichika insisted, "No, Ikkaku, you're confused. Don't lose hope, you'll find her again." Ikkaku shook his head, gasping.

"Master has died and left me," he moaned, beginning to become distressed, breathing changing, his voice becoming a tight sound that was an inch from breaking. "I saw, I've seen it."

"Died? You seem to be fine though, how is this? . . ."

"Please," Ikkaku then begged. "I have no one. Take me as your charge. I need guidance," Ikkaku said, and he did. Humans _needed_ nothing but air and water and food, and even that, they could choose to stop partaking of. They could choose to stop breathing, to stop eating or drinking; they didn't have to need anything if they didn't want to. But Ikkaku, Ikkaku was made to need, and he _did need._

"I need, I need your guidance," Ikkaku said again humbly.

Yumichika looked at him for a long time, arms crossed. "…" Ikkaku looked back, staring into his eyes and then lowering his head onto the table in a show of respect. "… Very well," Yumichika said, "You've already made a deal anyways." Ikkaku sat up, ready to thank him, but Yumichika cut him off by pointing a finger in his face, "But I'll have none of this 'denka' business. You're going to call me by my name."

"But that would be disrespectful."

"It would be," Yumichika said pointedly, "if I were someone worth respecting."

"You are!" Ikkaku insisted earnestly, "I cannot call you in a familiar way."

"To blazes with that!" Yumichika snapped, silencing him. Ikkaku's jaw shut heavily. ". . . Do we have a deal?" he grumbled, shifting around. "Would you like to shake on it? . . . Friend?" he asked, his voice becoming softer as he held a hand out.

"I would, I . . . " Ikkaku held out a shaking hand, unable to bring his fingers to touch Yumichika's, suddenly finding that his nose was dripping and his eyes were runny. He sniffed, swallowing and gasping, shaking all over.

"Don't cry."

Those words meant nothing to him. He didn't know how to stop doing something he wasn't aware of. As far as he knew, he was silent and not crying out at all. He was just… leaking… _feelings._

Ikkaku grasped Yumichika's hand, holding it for a moment, then seizing it with his other hand too and putting his forehead onto it as he gasped and shuddered. Yumichika shook him off in disgust.

"Please accept my undying gratitude!" Ikkaku leapt to the floor and put his head down, thankful to the bottom of his . . . heart, soul? He didn't have either of those things. He was grateful to the bottom of his subservient subsentient existence, that was it. He would do everything to make Yumichika happy and to let him stay.

"If you continue to grovel, I shall change my mind and send you away. I've had enough of your melodrama," Yumichika grumbled, and Ikkaku promptly got up, standing at his elbow while he finished eating, smiling merrily and occasionally wiping his wet face.

When he was done, Yumichika walked towards a window and peeked out through a small opening in the drapes. Dim light came inside, and Ikkaku merely knelt in a seiza by his feet, hands balled up on top of his thighs.

"Shuuhei usually takes care of chores for me in the day, but he has gone for now. You will take his place until he returns, yes?"

"Yes," Ikkaku chirped attentively.

"You will do work for me just as I tell you, as if I were doing it myself."

"Yes, yes! I will!"

Yumichika was quiet for a moment, still not looking down at him, just peeking through the crack in the thick curtain. There was a quiet sigh and Ikkaku just kept his eyes glued to him, squirming like mad. He wanted to start, he wanted to work and show Yumichika how useful he'd be, how hard he'd try! He'd show Yumichika that this wasn't a mistake! He'd definitely please him!

"Open the door and look out, Ikkaku. Look outside." Ikkaku scrambled onto his hands and knees in his hurry to stand up and do what he'd been told.

It not even crossing his mind about how he'd been previously blinded, he struggled to understand how to open the simple latch and then hurled the door open, flinching back slightly at the light. It wasn't as bright and harsh as he remembered, however. He still squinted against it, having become accustomed to the pitch black of the house at night. Yes, he was one with the darkness.

' _I am?'_

"What do you see?"

"I . . . I see," Ikkaku repeated as he thought, looking around. He saw short grass and dirt near the house, and in the distance, taller grass and craggy twisted trees that stretched in what seemed to be all directions. ". . . woodland," he settled on.

"What does the sky look like?"

"Sky," Ikkaku echoed, turning to Yumichika for some sort of clue. Yumichika pointed upwards and Ikkaku looked at the ceiling.

"No, outside."

He looked outside and then upwards. There . . . there was nothing there. "I don't know, Yumichika-shi," he said woefully. "Big . . . big nothing," he then said. "Grey nothing."

"And the plants?"

"Grey and brown and green." Ikkaku hummed then, wobbling his head from one side and then the other. This place was very drab. There was no red anywhere at all! What an awful place to live!

Yumichika seemed to turn sharply then, hands behind his back. "And the sun? Have you ever seen the sun, Ikkaku? Can you see it? Surely it's beautiful."

"Sun . . ." Ikkaku just kept staring outside in wonder. A small animal fell through the sky and landed on the grass, hopped a few times, and then floated away. Visions of white doves with bloody feathers and curled legs wandered through his mind.

' _Bird!'_ Ikkaku smiled as another one dropped onto the ground and then flew off.

"Where do you think we are?"

Ikkaku was silent. He had no idea where they were. It seemed they were in a forest surrounded by marsh. He had not seen another house other than the place where he'd woken.

"You are in Eastren," Yumichika said when he made no reply or guess.

"Eastern," Ikkaku repeated. "Eastern what?"

"No, no," Yumichika corrected. "Eastren."

"East-ren," Ikkaku parroted, nodding his head.

"Yes . . . We are far from the main town, however, as you can tell. I prefer to live alone, with no… visitors," he said darkly. "However, the cultists have taken up in the borderlands and moved through the blood marsh, ever closer. For this reason, you must try to stay close to my home as you work, because I will not protect you should they come to… _collect_ you."

"No, never! I will protect _you!_ " Ikkaku promised, bouncing slightly as he shut the door with a heavy slam that caused dust to fall from the rafters. Yumichika was silent for a moment, brooding eyes staring at him, but Ikkaku just smiled brightly.

"Well, that is . . ." Yumichika shook himself, and Ikkaku watched him with a tilt of the head. "I'll have you start simple, and I'll watch you go. I want you to bring flowers and put them in a vase."

"Yes."

"Hisagi won't be bothered with picking flowers, so I'm asking you to do it. Bring some flowers and put them in a vase for me."

From there, Ikkaku went outside on his own in the yard, looking back several times uncertainly to the open door where Yumichika was standing and watching him.

After a few moments of squatting in the tall grass and fooling around, batting it out of his eyes and mouth, it started to dawn on Ikkaku that he didn't know what flowers looked like. He was sure they had a potent smell, and that they were delicate and… and dry and withered…

Ikkaku swayed slightly, blinking blankly, hands just clenching in the air mechanically like he had with the grass that had been in his fist a moment before. He could just barely remember some spicy fragrant scent, and maybe the feeling of dry crumblings of dead plants in a bowl.

Ikkaku clutched the sides of his head, moaning lowly. Then, distracted, he blinked as a fluttering of white caught his eye. Petals flew by him and landed closer to his foot, then crawled.

' _Flower.'_

This was what Yumichika wanted. Small, beautiful, and soft, that was a flower. Ikkaku clapped his hands over it, a cloud of dust rising from the ground. Holding it tightly in his fists, he brought it up to his eye and peeked inside slowly, afraid that it would get away. Then he closed his hand quickly again, standing up.

He stomped back towards Yumichika, who raised an eyebrow and snorted. "Walk naturally," he called. "You look ridiculous. Like a troll or something." Ikkaku halted, mouth opening and then closing, and then he looked down at his feet.

"Mm," he grunted, straightening up all the way, and then overthinking it, raised his foot and couldn't make himself take another step, looking to Yumichika and then down and then up again.

"Just come!" Yumichika snapped, and Ikkaku jolted into motion, completely effortless agility.

Ikkaku offered his hands out. "What do you have? Show me." He nudged his hands out again, wordlessly making some noise, not knowing how to say that Yumichika had to treat this like it was precious, that it would escape on the wind if he didn't hold it close.

That it would crumble into ashes and die.

"Open your hand and show me."

Ikkaku frowned and opened his hands, and the flower didn't move. Yumichika was silent and Ikkaku tried to give it to him. "Ikkaku," Yumichika said softly, brow scrunching, his face looking unhappy and slightly disturbed.

Ikkaku looked at the flower more closely, and saw that it was a small animal. Noting this with mild surprise, he just held still, wiggling his hands slightly to try to make it move, but it didn't. It was gone.

He looked up to Yumichika in dismay, corners of his mouth tugging down as he made a sad noise. He'd wanted Yumichika to see it move, but it was gone. "You were too rough," Yumichika said scoldingly. "You killed it. You must be gentle to living things or they will die. You were too rough to it, Ikkaku."

"Oh," he said softly, petting it very carefully, getting white powder all over his hands.

"I don't want this anyways, why did you bring this to me?"

"Pretty flower," Ikkaku said even more softly, but now sounding uncertain, talking becoming extremely hard. "You like. I catch it and… and bring it. You like."

"This is not a flower, it's a bush-moth. Go get rid of it somewhere and bring me flowers."

"Flower," Ikkaku repeated to try to get that stuck in his head.

"You are so dull and useless," Yumichika said on sigh, "Truly, I keep thinking your stupidity knows no bounds and then you lower my expectations yet again."

Ikkaku blinked at him. ' _Stupid.'_

He had not thought that not knowing anything meant he was stupid. He just thought that meant he needed to be taught and that he needed to learn. He cocked his head sideways.

"Akarat, you have no personality whatsoever, do you." Ikkaku tilted his head even further and Yumichika groaned. "Truly, your face doesn't match your demeanor at all." Ikkaku put a hand to his face curiously, feeling it. "Just go," Yumichika prodded with a sigh and a begrudging smile. "Get."

After Ikkaku successfully completed the task and found some wildflowers, Yumichika worked him up through several other jobs, watching him carefully from the doorway. The nothing above them seemed to grow lighter as time went on, and Ikkaku eventually saw that it looked like smoke, as if some great pyre somewhere had gone up and coated the world with floating ash.

"I'm done," Ikkaku called, a bit dirty from fixing a fence that had fallen into the mud. Nice Yumichika who was teaching him so much was still staying in the house and watching him, now sitting in a chair and tending to other things and only speaking to him to correct his mistakes or to give him further directions.

"Come here." Ikkaku came, pausing in the threshold as Yumichika told him what to do next. "There is an animal in the barn," he explained.

"Barn," he echoed quietly.

"Yes, a building nearby to this house in the west." Ikkaku bobbed his head. "The animal is there for you to feed and clean. You will feed it hay. There's some of it lying around for you to pitch into its pen." Ikkaku nodded again. "It may make noise and stomp about – do not be afraid of it and do not hurt it."

"What is it?" slipped out of him, and he didn't know why, because that was rather irrelevant to his mission. For some reason he felt… perhaps… curious? Or… or maybe he wished he knew more. If he were smarter, maybe Yumichika would like him better. He wanted to know more things. Maybe… maybe if he knew a bit more, he'd realize why he was here, what he was supposed to be doing. Maybe he'd just forgotten and it would all come rushing back.

"A cow."

Ikkaku perked up a bit. He knew that! That was the lowing animal that bled so dark and so much. "I know what a cow is."

Yumichika nodded his head sharply, seeming satisfied. "Then you can even bring back milk."

"Yes." Yumichika nodded to him again and then turned away. Seeing that he'd been dismissed, Ikkaku rocked on the balls of his feet for a moment or two, smiling, and then went off in search of wherever the cow was kept.

It only took him ten or so minutes to come across a building that looked incredibly old and gloomy, not at all like Yumichika's nice cabin. This building's wood was grey and not brownish at all. Worse was that the doors seemed to be boarded shut. Had he come to the right place? He circled the building, bumping himself against it in distress before settling in front of the doors again rather stupidly and looking closer. A slow frustrated noise escaped him. Ahh, Yumichika would be so disappointed if he failed.

Knocking his body against the doors again in the fruitless hope that they might open for him and let him do what he came to do, his shoulder touched something cold. Looking at it closer, he blinked and cocked his head, pleased that he recognized this object. Metal links, used to hang and drain meat, were wrapped around the door handles, and they hung broken and useless.

He played with one broken piece with his finger and it fell to the ground, where he noticed the imprints that matched his own feet in the dirt. Then he placed his hands on the boards that were wrapped in the broken chains and lifted them easily.

When he turned to drop them, then made a really loud noise against the ground, a flurry of those little flower-moths flying out of the surrounding grass. Ikkaku stared for a moment before pulling one door open and going inside into the dark.

After confusedly searching all areas of the one-room building, Ikkaku squatted, troubled, and scratched his head. The hay was here, but everywhere he looked, no cow, no cow anywhere. What was he to do? Had it wandered away? And locked the door behind it? Somehow? Hm. Maybe it was hiding and he was just too stupid to see it. He checked in the hay, but nothing. There wasn't anywhere in here that it could be, really. It seemed it was gone.

Seeing no other alternative, he returned to Yumichika, feeling extremely foolish, and cried in distress, "There _is_ no cow! I'm sorry I've failed!"

"What do you mean?" Yumichika asked in confusion and perhaps a bit of irritation. Ikkaku hung his head, not looking Yumichika in the eye. He couldn't seem to do anything right. He was stupid.

"It isn't there, Yumichika-shi," Ikkaku mumbled.

"Look at me." Ikkaku lifted his head and met his eyes, frowning. Yumichika didn't look angry, that was something. "When you arrived, was the door opened?" he said slowly and very clearly. Ikkaku shook his head, huffing. "Blast," Yumichika hissed, rising hurriedly and walking over to the door, throwing a heavy sheet over his shoulders. For a moment Ikkaku stared at him in wonder. He looked just like master had, in that lovely long cloak, draping against him. Yumichika's was dark as night however, not pretty blue, and along with covering his back, he put the hood up and wrapped his face with a piece of dark cloth so that when Ikkaku looked at him, he looked like a shade of the night, a shadow man.

"Go try to find it," Yumichika sighed, "If you can't, it's all right. Come back before dark." It registered then that Yumichika was leaving, Yumichika was leaving and he was not taking him with him.

"Where are you going?" Ikkaku asked, feeling as though he should be readying himself to follow, to accompany him on his trip.

"I must take care of something. I'll be back soon. You find the cow and bring it back. Do you have that? Find the cow and bring it back here, then wait for my return."

Ikkaku frowned, jolting forward an unsteady step when Yumichika pulled on some leather gloves and wrapped a belt around his waist, arming himself with a familiar knife. Ikkaku looked at its glitter and thought of dead birds, bleeding forearms, carved bowls filled and surrounded by candles, howls and sacrifice.

"Where?" He shook himself from his stupor. Yumichika had a job for him and it sounded very serious and important. "Where has it gone?"

"I don't know," Yumichika said, causing Ikkaku to recoil slightly. "You'll have to search." Yumichika stepped outside, looking up to the sun overhead and shielding his eyes, and then back to Ikkaku. "Don't go too far north, you'll get stuck in the blood marsh. South is the highlands. East is the Briarthorn Cemetery. West is Westmarch. If you get lost… Well," Yumichika sighed. "Don't get lost."

With that, Yumichika gave a parting nod and disappeared into the fog. Ikkaku stared after him for some time before shutting the door to the house and closing the fence gate to keep their birds in. He then stomped off into the gloom, wandering for quite some time, so long in fact that his slow brain checked off and he walked on reflex rather than thought.

He came back to himself when he began to smell something very familiar. It was far away still, but it reminded him of home, of- of himself. He tried to follow it, stopping to sniff the air several times to see if it was stronger or weaker than when he'd last moved.

Eventually he felt as though he could barely hear something. Following the howling pained noise in curiosity, he got closer and closer until he could see through the trees and grass, the large animal lying on the ground at the foot of a tree stump. Yes, cow, cow, cow. This was just what he remembered cows looking like: big rolling eyes, wagging tongue, snot-covered nose, lots and lots of guts in its belly. There it was laying peacefully and writhing in joy that he'd found it. Ahh, it was trying to go to sleep, huh?

He stomped over to it, and as he got closer, it kicked and rolled its eyes, getting even louder. He squatted by its face, avoiding its thrashing legs, talking to it. "Yumichika wants you back. Come on and follow me." Maybe it couldn't get up? Ikkaku came behind it and held it around its big neck, trying to heft it up. When he did though, its body strained and it let out a fearsome bellow. He settled for petting its neck and its heaving belly. Hmm, so warm and wet.

"Have you not the sense of mind to end its misery? Wasteful fool. Away."

Ikkaku hummed and placed his cheek down on its neck, feeling its thundering pulse. Mmm, listen to that blood pumping around in there, escaping and flowing onto the ground. The animal finally seemed to grow tired and quieted, lying its head down to rest, belly rising and falling rapidly under his hand. Its tongue lay in the dirt.

Ikkaku picked his head up in curiosity, tilting one ear down and watching as a man came out of nowhere and approached him. He seemed to have horns peeking out from beneath a red hood, a matching red mask covering his nose and mouth. His shoulders and forehead were bare, a frightening white. His robe's front was covered by plated armor, and he held a knife with three points, the outside two curving inward.

"Away before you mire the offering."

Ikkaku stood, warm and sticky, still staring rather mildly at this person. When he did so, they backed away slightly, their eyes dark holes.

In a voice that seemed awed, low and gravely, and not quite directed at him, he asked, "Who thought to conjure you? Who had the strength?" Ikkaku blinked at him, his words going straight through him. He just observed curiously. Why did this man seem so familiar? Well, not him in particular, but his appearance? The clothing and the curved blade. Ikkaku felt like he'd never known anything else and yet he couldn't remember ever having seen it before.

' _No! Please, Akarat, no!'_

Ikkaku twitched, a hand rising to the side of his head. His eyelids had suddenly itched.

' _Please, take me instead! Please! Mercy!'_

He breathed through his open mouth, brow crinkling as his eyes crawled over the stranger's red head-covering.

"… I must sample," came a gurgling rasp, and without any warning, the man's dark abyssal eyes sparked with a pinprick of gold and he jolted forward with a cry, wielding the blade. Ikkaku acted immediately without any thought, halting its progress just as it touched the skin of his neck, which was still foolishly borne, his head tilted to the side in mild wonder.

This was of no consequence. He had to go home to Yumichika and show him he'd found his animal. He could feel flicker of a pulse in the man's wrist where he was holding it in his fist; it was fast and terrified, but Ikkaku felt nothing past anxiousness to return and obey Yumichika.

A snarl sounded before the blade pressed forward the millimeter it needed to prick Ikkaku's neck, a bead of blood gathering and running down in a warm trail. Ikkaku acted before thinking, grabbing him with a frightening strength and strangling him on the ground. He held him down there and watched his contorting face unblinkingly, letting weak hands scrabble at his own.

When he finally didn't feel any warmth, Ikkaku let go and just squatted there next to him and looked at him for many long, long minutes, maybe an hour. He didn't know why he'd done it really, why his arms had done that. He felt as though that should bother him, but blinked through the thought and rubbed his small cut. It had already scabbed in the time he'd sat here.

It vaguely occurred to him that everyone in the world seemed to know what he was except for him. He blinked again at the gone-man.

He finally sniffed and stood up, wandering back to Yumichika's cow and patting its neck, telling it they were going back now. It didn't get up, so he took it back to the farm himself, dragging it by its head. It took him quite some time to figure out how to get it into the barn, and when he finally did, he put it in its pen and gave it some hay, leaving it by its face. It began making noise again, lowing and lowing. It was happy he'd brought it home. He smiled and then left and waited in the yard for Yumichika to return.

While he waited, he stood by the fence and watched the birds wander around. Eventually he let them out and watched them tentatively head into the yard while he squatted some distance away. He wondered what Yumichika was doing and pulled on some grass nervously.

Eventually he decided he should give some more grain to their birds. Yumichika had been gone a long, long time. Maybe their tummies were hungry again - Yumichika had taught him how to feed them. He'd taught him so so much already.

Ikkaku made a little seed pile and backed far away, watching as the fat birds bustled over and pecked at it with a smile. If he got too close to them, they always ran away from him and didn't let him touch them, so he had decided to leave them alone, settling for just watching them and their colorful feathers and their red, red eyes. Ahh, just like him.

Ikkaku felt at his eyelids, this time carefully closing them before poking. He could feel his eyeball rolling under there. Hm, the skin where he'd seen that red spot didn't feel any different than his other skin, but earlier they'd itched and burned. He opened his eyes and watched a bird that had strayed a little close to him, leaning forward sneakily with his hand outstretched. It squawked and hurried away from him, flapping its wings. Ikkaku sat back on his haunches again. When would Yumichika come back? He missed him.

It was them that a man came up to the house. Ikkaku looked up and saw Yumichika's Shuuhei coming towards him, interrupting his pheasant-watching. He stopped some distance away and just looked at Ikkaku somewhat angrily. Ikkaku blinked at him. He did not bow to him like he would Yumichika, but still stood at attention, since this was his new master's partner.

"Where's Yumichika?"

"…" An abortive noise escaped Ikkaku's throat. Talking seemed near impossible suddenly. With Yumichika, responses seemed to come out so automatically, but right now his brain had seemed to just shut off. "Yumichika…"

Hisagi seemed unwilling to get closer or close the distance, but made do with an embittered expression and a rather sour tone of voice. "What, are you deaf? Where's he gone?"

"Yumichika-shi's gone."

"I _know_ that, you dullard, _where?_ "

"I don't know," Ikkaku slurred sluggishly, trying his hardest, but mostly thinking about that he wanted Yumichika to come back.

"Of course you don't, idiot-bastard," Hisagi groaned. Ikkaku watched as his hand touched the hilt of the sword at his side over and over. "Did he say when he's coming back? You let him go alone?"

"He sent me… away."

"What, and you didn't leave?"

"I came back to- to wait," Ikkaku struggled, overstimulated. Hisagi rubbed at his eyes with a sigh.

"Why don't you just _go_ , you-" Hisagi stopped talking and just glared at him for a moment or two, then hissing, "Did you at least see which way he went?" Ikkaku nodded mutely, then pointing when prompted.

Finally Hisagi went silent after several more questions, and Ikkaku was content to watch the pheasants crowd around Hisagi's feet, poking at him curiously with their little beaks, their beady eyes blinking, heads cocking as they clucked. Ikkaku wished they would come to his legs too, but they avoided him suspiciously.

Hisagi seemed to exude tense energy, and although it didn't permeate Ikkaku's calm or particularly bother him, he felt that Yumichika would be happier if his Hisagi was happy too. Piping up, Ikkaku suggested that Yumichika might come back soon. Hisagi dipped his chin.

"Don't be scared that he'll leave, he'll definitely come back. Yumichika will definitely come back," Ikkaku repeated, smiling, the words coming somewhat more easily from some thoughtless confident place. "Yumichika told me to wait here until he came back."

Hisagi grunted, crossing his arms, seeming to have resolved to wait for Yumichika out here with him, his foot tapping in the dust, scaring off the birds. "You're naïve. Stupid. You don't belong here. You should just go back to where you came from and leave Yumichika and me alone. He's only allowed you to stay out of spite for me, as I know well enough."

Ikkaku tilted his head. "I can't leave when Yumichika-denka has told me to stay." Hisagi wrinkled his nose and looked at him.

"What was that?" He scowled. "What, you just _decided_ he's your- your-"

"He'll definitely come back," Ikkaku repeated confidently. "He'll come back to me, and to you too, Hisagi-hidenka." Hisagi's eyes widened, and the next thing Ikkaku knew, he'd been struck directly in the face, and although he didn't quite feel anything other than the pressure, he found he was on his butt in the dirt, holding his cheek. His teeth were wiggling.

"Shuuhei!" came a sudden snapping voice, and as if summoned, a black-clad figure strode through the grey-green curtains of grass and hanging branches and towards them. Ikkaku flopped over in his struggle to rise, one forearm braced on the ground, his other hand still seeming to be glued to his cheek. It felt a bit warm and tingly.

Ikkaku's head hit the dirt in a failed attempt to get up, but he kept trying to lift his face. Yumichika was back!

"You think to harm him?" he hissed, "Are you mad?" He was getting right in Shuuhei's face. He flinched back momentarily from Yumichika's venomous scolding, and it vaguely registered to Ikkaku that Yumichika was angry with Shuuhei again. It was strange. They were either very loving or very mean to one another. He couldn't decide if that meant this Shuuhei was his Yumichika's lover or his slave.

With a bitter frown, Shuuhei crossed his arms over his chest and glared petulantly back at Yumichika but still with an air of shame to it. "I know well what will happen if I gave it so much as the smallest nick, but maybe they _should_ come back and get it." Yumichika seemed to shake his head and an exasperated sigh escaped him. Shuuhei grabbed his shoulder as if to get across that he was serious. "It's got a _mouth_ on it, it oughta' _go_."

Yumichika glanced up at the dimmed sky and then tugged the cloth covering his face down. Ikkaku had made it onto his hands and knees and was looking at Yumichika with his mouth open. He could see Yumichika's chin and mouth, just the tip of his nose under the shade of his hood.

"He has _nobody_ ," Yumichika whispered harshly.

"Well it can't live here, get it _out of here_ , Yumichika," Hisagi insisted. "You know what it is, and yet you let it stay, I don't understand you!"

Yumichika put his gloved hands on his hips, replying rather sardonically, "You're the one who said not to be kind with no intention to keep. Well I'm keeping." Hisagi gave a long exasperated groan and then shook his head. "I'm _keeping_ , Shuuhei," Yumichika repeated, and Hisagi shook his head more insistently.

"No. Not this. This isn't a stray cat." Hisagi waved a hand at Ikkaku furiously, "Turn it away!"

"This is not a conversation for the here and now, I'm going inside," Yumichika said calmly, moving past Shuuhei, who seized his arm and yanked him back, resulting in a threatening hiss. Ikkaku settled on his knees and reached his arms out to Yumichika's legs, fingertips just out of brushing distance.

"No, you're not," Hisagi spat. "Turn it _out_." Yumichika pulled himself free and bared his teeth right back at him.

"You'd have me turn him out on his own after I've told him he may stay? What would _that_ make him feel?"

"Yumichika, it can't feel _anything_!" Hisagi shouted in exasperated incredulity, hands fisting in his hair. "It's made to do the bidding of-"

"He's different, I tell you." Hisagi growled and hurled himself away, pacing and grumbling. Yumichika continued talking, raising his voice over Hisagi's tantrum. "Whatever or whoever he came from, they're gone, yet he still lives… He has care for living things."

Hisagi stopped then and looked at Yumichika rather sharply. Ikkaku looked between them, blinking, not understanding the change in atmosphere. ". . . I know what you're doing and I don't like it," Hisagi said lowly, coming closer. "Just accept things as they are and stop chasing after something you don't need." His voice became wretched and pleading then, " _I'm_ here."

Yumichika jolted for a short moment in what seemed like surprise, and then sneered and stalked away towards the house then, hissing, "I don't have to listen to this." Hisagi called after him, disheartened, both he and Ikkaku crawling after him in different ways.

"You think I have no wisdom to impart just because- because I'm not-"

"That's exactly what I think," Yumichika replied icily as he opened the door. "Leave me be." With that, he shut Hisagi outside, and Hisagi let his head fall against the wood with a clunk and a long sigh. Ikkaku butt his own forehead on the door woefully, whining.

After watching his pathetic struggle, Hisagi turned the door handle to let him inside and then walked off towards the shed in a gloomy state. Ikkaku lit up when he saw Yumichika inside resting at the table, polishing his dagger with a grimy cloth.

Yumichika raised an eyebrow at him and smiled rather fondly. Ikkaku looked down at himself only to find brownish red stains on his clothes and perfect beautiful red arms and hands. "What have you done and been?" It seemed a rhetorical question with such an amused tone as that, so Ikkaku just approached him and sat near his feet, humming and bumping himself on the table leg while Yumichika quietly cleaned his equipment.

He watched out the window as Hisagi split wood against a log rather angrily. Ikkaku thoughtfully set his chin on his knee and felt his warm tender cheek again. "Why does Hisagi-shi treat me so?" he asked curiously, causing Yumichika to not so much as look up, but to sigh through his nose.

"Shuuhei has become a zealot of an ancient and dying religion, and he both reveres and fears you. Out of care for me, he has not yet told the coven of your location or attempted to vanquish you, but his patience is wearing." He pointedly looked up and out the window, sending a resentful and bitter gaze towards his partner. "As is mine for him."

"Why does he strike my face?"

"He's anxious that I should want no company other than his and now that I've let you stay, he's in a pet. His anger consumes him." Ikkaku hummed, rubbing his cheek. Yumichika looked down at him then, using one finger under his chin to turn his face up to his. He sucked his teeth rather scoldingly and seemed to find Ikkaku's features dissatisfactory.

"What happened to make him angry? When I approached, you both seemed to be getting along and then he suddenly struck you."

Ikkaku tried to think, bobbing his head from side to side. "I said you would definitely come back to Hisagi-hidenka, Yumichika-shi," he remembered, "and he was angry."

Yumichika was silent, and as Ikkaku blinked at him curiously, he saw Yumichika mouth was open and his eyes were wide. Then, this strange bubbling escaped Yumichika and he began shaking all over. Oh, he was crying!

Ikkaku began to moan and pet Yumichika's leg, shaking his head. No, no, don't cry. Yumichika grew louder, clutching his stomach and wiping his eyes, his face split in a smile. "Ikkaku, oh Ikkaku," he cried, "You've insulted him."

It finally registered that Yumichika was _laughing_ and Ikkaku cocked his head confusedly. "What?"

"You called him my _consort,"_ Yumichika pointed out, causing Ikkaku to wrinkle his nose at why that was of much notice, "as if he were a princess by marriage to royalty."

Ikkaku frowned. Why had that made him angry then? He was obviously Yumichika's love-slave partner. "But isn't he your…?" He didn't know if he should say that out loud.

Yumichika was still laughing hysterically, a hand over his eyes as he leaned his elbow on the table. "He is not my consort. He's my partner."

"Oh."

"Hidenka, ohhhh my…" Yumichika wiped his eye and then looked at Ikkaku with a bit of amused frustration. "This means you're still thinking of me as 'denka' even though I _told_ you not to call me so."

Ah- It did…

Ikkaku didn't know what else to do but clasp his hands in panic and apologize. "Don't grovel," Yumichika sniffed, and Ikkaku nodded. "I wish you'd think more for yourself. Your lack of reason is tiresome."

"I'm trying!" Ikkaku blurted somewhat angrily, and Yumichika laughed that that was a bit more like it.

They spent a short time together talking and working together, Ikkaku sitting just outside in the dirt while Yumichika was inside, cooking. Ikkaku peeled peas into a bowl and threw the pods out into the grass, occasionally looking up towards the raspy lowing that was still going on in the far distance. Hisagi had gone off that way when he'd come outside. Both he and Yumichika seemed to know what he was, didn't they, and Hisagi wanted him to leave due to it, and Yumichika seemed to want him to stay despite some risk. That man in the woods had known too.

"Yumichika-shi, you know what I am," he said thoughtfully, it having taken some time for him to put that together all the way.

"I do," Yumichika replied, cutting meat from the bone.

"What am I?"

Carefully silent for a short time, Yumichika went on with preparing a rack of ribs. Ikkaku looked up in wait and back down to his once again washed-clean hands to watch what he was peeling, until Yumichika finally answered. "You," he said, tearing a strip of fat off and flinging it down into a scrap pile, "are a promise."

That rolled around in his mind. A promise. He was a promise. To who? And why? Who made the promise, and what of? "A promise of what?" he settled on.

"I do not know," Yumichika replied. "Only the one who called you here does."

Ikkaku frowned. No one had called him here. He'd come here and found wonderful Yumichika and Shuuhei on accident, on luck. Or did he mean to this world? The only one who'd called him here to live was forever dead and sleeping, encased in stone. She couldn't tell him what she'd promised or even if it had been _her_ promising.

"Then I'll never know?" Ikkaku said dully, rather despairing at the thought. Yumichika shrugged a shoulder, seeming not to find this as cause for distress, which calmed Ikkaku slightly. He didn't like doubting what he was doing. He liked to focus on Yumichika and pleasing him instead. Then he didn't have to wonder.

"Perhaps not, if you didn't when you awoke."

Ikkaku stared forward numbly. He'd never know who he was. He'd never know.

Hisagi went into the barn and the lowing stopped.

* * *

_Love is just a bloodsport, love is just a bloodsport._


	3. Seared Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After meeting some strangers in the woods that seem to have a foul connection to Hisagi, the sinister behavior he's been noticing from Yumichika's lover escalate, and the violent outbursts Ikkaku has been suffering from of late rear their head once more when he stumbles into the fabled blood marsh.

Several days passed, and Ikkaku did not note the daylight’s passing so much as he did Yumichika’s periods of waking and sleeping. He still spent long hours each night lying on the floor in the darkness alone, sometimes repeating things he’d heard during the daytime or strange thoughts that flitted through his dull mind. He’d go quiet when he heard noise coming from the other room – thumping and rustling, sounds that seemed to be of pain. He could smell blood from under the crack of the door and only was able to repress the urge to crawl towards it and thrust his head against the opening to get at the scent better because of the thought of Yumichika’s disappointment to find that he had gotten up in the night instead of slept.

Ikkaku did not understand the concept of sleep past lying still and practicing to be dead. Sleep and dreams did not register in his mind whenever Yumichika spoke of them. His existence consisted of wakefulness, usefulness, servitude; at least, that’s what it should have been. He’d woken, and that had been it; one moment he had not been, the next, he had. All the same, Ikkaku seemed to curb a certain desperate sadness in Yumichika if he’d lie still in the night with his eyes closed, so Ikkaku did dutifully, even if he didn’t quite understand why he was to lie here for such a _long long time_ when he could be doing something useful, when he could be pleasing Yumichika in some way. There was a deep yearning within him to answer an almost primal instinct. He knew not what it could be, just that it was there, gnawing at his insides.

No, but he felt like he _did_ know what he really should be doing at night when Yumichika was resting. Sometimes in the darkness when he was lying on his back, staring at the insides of his eyelids, he felt the urge to rise and loom in the doorway, to look outside, to bare his teeth and appear threatening to whatever was howling far in the distance on the hill. It had come closer since the first time he'd heard it. He would not let it near Yumichika’s land. He would not.

Ikkaku felt light and free each time Yumichika finally _, finally_ opened the door and lit those little fairy lights around the home. He’d keep his eyes carefully closed despite his body’s uncontrollably excited wriggling as he’d hear Yumichika walking towards him, right until the moment that he felt a gentle touch to his face. His eyes would snap open involuntarily and his mouth would stretch in a shark's grin. “Yumichika,” he’d say stupidly, unable to do anything but smile and maybe repeat his name once more. 

“Rise and greet the day.”

Ikkaku flopped onto his front, finding difficulty in getting up because of the fact that he would not take his eyes off Yumichika’s face, his head having to bend back and roll against the floor while he struggled to rise. Yumichika began to cry quietly, just a little, softly, and oh no, he tried to hide it behind his hand, his mouth and eyes contorting.

“I am slow – I’m sorry,” Ikkaku slurred, rising onto his hands and knees and then falling on his face when he lifted one arm to try to touch Yumichika to comfort him instead of holding himself up. Yumichika positively burst into sobs at the sight of his horrible clumsiness.

“No,” Ikkaku shook his head, crawling towards him and petting his leg. “No, no. I will walk better,” he promised, his hands trying to go for Yumichika’s face, but halting, floating over.

“Oh Ikkaku,” Yumichika sighed, smiling gently as the crying subsided. “You make me laugh.”

“Ah,” he stuttered. It seemed he’d been mistaken again. He’s merely made Yumichika happy by inadvertently doing something funny. Ikkaku never expected that scary noise to come out of Yumichika, and every time he heard it, his mind immediately went to pain and anguish rather than hilarity. Where he’d come from, laughter only accompanied screams.

‘ _Where I come from… Where have I come from?’_ He hadn’t come from anywhere, right? Stupid thought. He’d come from Master in the room with the quiet people. Ikkaku’s brow twitched for a moment with a sudden pang of _bad_ , and his hand unsteadily slapped at his temple.

It seemed like the longer he lived with Yumichika, the more he’d been plagued with these questions and the more complex and troubling the questions had become, because it felt like… it felt like he was closer to remembering… or… or _realizing_ , or something of that nature.

While that should have encouraged him and made him feel as though he were making progress, the opposite had occurred. Whenever this strange fever struck and he felt that something was familiar or on the edge of his remembrance, he grew frustrated with his inability to grasp what was out of reach. He’d had several outbursts of emotion, and no longer were they of despair or terror such as they had been the first few nights he had spent with Yumichika. Now they were in anger. He’d go into a black mood and become extremely irritable. Once he’d gone so far as to scream and beat the ground with his fists after Yumichika had inquired as to why he’d tied a particularly elaborate snare knot around his wrist.  He’d only been meant to slowly unravel his yarn for him from a ball while Yumichika knitted and Ikkaku had been gazing at Yumichika’s beautiful face and before he’d known it Yumichika had tugged at the yarn and the loop had closed on his wrist and pulled his arm, in _beautiful complete control_ of Ikkaku’s movements for a moment, and Yumichika had looked at him and asked whywhywhy, Ikkaku, _why-do-you-do-these-strange-things-_

‘ _I don’t know!’_

Yumichika didn’t speak to him when he got into a snit, and would usually completely ignore him until Ikkaku calmed from his destructive rage and became guilty. Ikkaku disliked being denied attention, and would begin practically climbing the walls in dismay and remorse, anxious for Yumichika to forgive him and acknowledge his presence once more.

If Ikkaku grew cross when Shuuhei was near, he would be kicked and beaten with whatever was nearby for Shuuhei to throw at him. Again, Yumichika would not say a word, but would occasionally send disapproving and rather threatening glances to Hisagi if he became too cruel. Ikkaku would usually get the message that Shuuhei wouldn’t let him be aggressive anywhere near Yumichika after having a few things hurled at him, and would scurry away after consistent and merciless pummeling each time he tried to return to Yumichika’s side. After being driven off, he’d then sulk a distance away on the floor for some time, and then would worm over towards Yumichika’s feet on his belly a few inches at a time over a long period, eyeing Shuuhei suspiciously each time he moved to search for an indication that he was allowed back.

Once when Shuuhei had tried to send him away from them and put him outside, Ikkaku had growled at him and would not go away from Yumichika. Shuuhei had kicked him again threateningly, telling him to _get away_ or he’d regret it. Ikkaku had snapped at his leg, and Shuuhei pulled out his knife, intent on stabbing him in the neck.

Yumichika intervened directly then, having stopped the blade’s path- _practically shrieked_ that there could be no blood, no cuts. He’d seized Hisagi under the arms and held him fiercely, dragging him, _dragging him_ , his face buried between his shoulder blades. Ikkaku simply stared into Hisagi’s wide eyes and watched his face crumple horribly as he swallowed and bit his lips.

‘ _Let me kill it, Yumichika. Please_ ,’ he’d heard whispered later that night while he was lying down and dutifully sleeping.

“Come back,” Yumichika whispered, his lips still quirked with that lovely smile. His fingers stroked along Ikkaku’s chin to draw his face up. Ikkaku’s dazed eyes flicked back to Yumichika’s. “Where do you go, Ikkaku?” was sighed.

Ikkaku pondered this for a moment, before his face scrunched up frustratedly when he couldn’t think if he’d gone anywhere or not. Eventually he grumbled an upset, ‘I don’t know.’ Yumichika laughed again, causing the directionless anger in Ikkaku’s heart to ease back to a buzzing sort of adoration.

He stared for some time with his mouth open as he thought about the fact that Yumichika seemed to be becoming fonder of him as time went on; he’d been laughing more and more with each day they spent together.

Sometimes Ikkaku felt that he might burst from love and eagerness for Yumichika to love him in return.

Yumichika smiled even wider at what must’ve been a stupid expression, and stood. A soft pleased grunt escaped Ikkaku as his hand was taken and he was helped to his feet, before being sent about his morning routine. After getting dressed and washing his face and hands, Ikkaku simply watched Yumichika drift around carving meat and cutting slices of bread and spreading mashed fruit on them. He was struck with the wish to sneak over and hold him against his body as Shuuhei sometimes did to him in the morning.

“Hungry?”

“Yes,” he practically yelped, jolting forward. He waited excitedly in his chair at the table, practically bouncing in his anticipation for what Yumichika has given him every day since their cow was rescued: juicy, succulent, red, _dripping_ meat.

He knew it had come from the cow of course, and hot hells was it delicious. He gorged himself on every last drop Yumichika gave him every mealtime, and with each passing feed, Ikkaku felt more and more… confident? Aggressive- No, capable maybe. But at what, and why? And… Gahh, was this the truth, was this who he really was? Was that person coming out or was he slacking in his discipline? Maybe he was becoming too lax in obeying Yumichika and the result was that he was now unruly and moody.

Ah, he didn’t know. What was important was that Yumichika had just slid his meal towards him, no silverware provided, a mass of nondescript bright pink meat, the plate wet from the juices. Ikkaku immediately grabbed some in his hands and sunk his teeth into it, his mouth full to bursting. A satisfied groan escaped him as he ripped the hunk clamped in his jaws free before swallowing it whole.

The night the cow had been brought back home, Hisagi and Yumichika had had a long discussion. Yumichika had noted that it was the night after a full moon with a rather icy tone of voice, which had caused Shuuhei to go silent for some time. He’d finally conceded that yes, it had been the beast, and Ikkaku took that to mean it was whatever he occasionally heard howling at night.

However, Ikkaku knew this was not true. It had _not_ been the beast to sacrifice the cow and leave it to rest in its happiness at becoming an offering to… to… Ikkaku pounded his fist on the table for a moment, pausing in eating as his brow clenched hard. He gave a loud growl and attacked his meat a bit more forcefully than necessary. “My my,” Yumichika sighed, sipping his tea across from him. He was smiling, as he always did when Ikkaku ate.

Anyway, Ikkaku had known that Shuuhei had told a lie! Once Shuuhei had gone away, Ikkaku had told Yumichika about the man he’d seen in the woods, the one with the red mask. Yumichika had eyed him sharply and checked his body. ‘Did he hurt you? Whence did he go?’

‘He’s gone, Yumichika,’ Ikkaku had chirped confusedly.

‘Gone where?’

‘Gone,’ he repeated uncertainly, beginning to slur.

Yumichika had seemed to relax, and had then told him very seriously that this was a bad man, and that if he saw him again or anyone else like him, to get up and run away. Ikkaku had simply bobbed his head in acquiescence despite the fact that he thought… well, the bad man was gone – Ikkaku had seen so. He couldn’t do anything anymore to anyone. But Yumichika was always right and never made mistakes, so Ikkaku nodded his stupid head ‘yes,’ knowing that Yumichika must mean something else.

Yumichika had broached the subject of the man in the woods later when Hisagi had come back. Hisagi had not liked to hear that.

Ikkaku had been rather wary of Hisagi lately, despite his rising aggression towards him. His very presence was beginning to put him on edge, the very air around him feeling… dark, troubled, _dangerousfamiliar **agonizing-**_

Not to mention a close proximity to him burned his nose; Hisagi had been mating a lot. He smelled of an animal in rut, and reeked of the beast that sometimes stalked their lands and scent-marked trees along the perimeter. Hisagi’s heady smell made Ikkaku irrationally paranoid whenever he had a passing desire to rub against Yumichika, hold him, touch him with his hands, love him- he’d become intensely afraid that Hisagi would sense this and come tie him down and castrate him. In those rare times when Hisagi was permitted to touch on Yumichika himself, Ikkaku would burn with jealousy and butt his head against Yumichika’s leg or rub on their door – but Hisagi would assert dominance and drive him off with a kick or two.

Ikkaku finished eating with a final slurp, the haze of feeding lingering in his mind like a heavy cloud for several long minutes in which he just stared and reveled in the sensation of the slow drip of warmth from his chin and the cold trickle down his neck.

Ikkaku didn’t know where Hisagi was at the moment or what he was doing. The last he had seen him was noon when he’d gone out yesterday and Yumichika had gone away into his room and laid in bed for several hours without sleeping, completely unresponsive. Ikkaku had dared to creep in and bump against the foot of the bed and reach his arms over the edge of the mattress across the empty place, and Yumichika had suddenly shot up and screamed at him to leave him be and never, never touch that again, _do you understand?_ Ikkaku had gone out mildly and sat and waited on the floor near the doorway until Yumichika emerged and tenderly pet his head for a time and said sorry – sorry sorry sorry – he didn’t know why he’d shouted, he didn’t know why – he’s sorry.

Hisagi had not come home last night.

After wiping his plate carefully with a wet cloth like Yumichika had showed him, and placing it gently on a stack in the cupboard, Ikkaku went out and did some work for Yumichika. There had been no more talk about sending him away – from Yumichika’s mouth, at least – and Ikkaku was content to bumble around and do what Yumichika told him to. Yumichika seemed to have decided to keep him and tolerate him; maybe even liked Ikkaku a fraction as much as he adored Yumichika. Ikkaku liked it here, he liked to live here with Yumichika and please him. He liked this, yes he did. He liked doing what Yumichika said, he liked having instructions – he felt useful and, and _right._ He’d found his… host, no… master- no, Yumichika did not replace her, he did not, but he somehow still soothed the pain of losing her- he was…

Ikkaku squatted hurriedly and held his head on both sides, groaning loudly and angrily, letting it build into a harsh scream that scared away Yumichika’s pheasants. He immediately blinked and let go of his ears, crawling after them, his feet scuffing grass into the air behind him. They still scattered whenever he approached, which was greatly disheartening. He longed to touch their feathers and hold their round soft bodies against him and feel them, but he didn’t try to catch them anymore. He’d cornered one once because he’d been so desperate to touch it, and it’s distress at his proximity had startled and upset him so much that he’d let it escape to the other end of the yard again.

“Ikkaku, leave the birds be. Come here please.”

Ikkaku hopped up happily and bounded back to the house. “Yes, yes,” he acknowledged, his heart singing a song of promise and devotion, wild screams and thrashing arms and fire, fire… shadows…

Ikkaku grabbed his right ear and jammed the heel of his hand against the opposite temple, baring his teeth, his nose wrinkling up. “Ahhh,” he groaned lowly. Ikkaku then tried to soften his brow for Yumichika as he came up to him; he seemed concerned this time.

“Ikkaku, you’ve been doing that a lot of late. Are you in pain? What ails you, my sweet?” Yumichika inquired, a hand gracing his cheek long enough that Ikkaku’s entire body relaxed, his hands flopping from his face to hang at his sides, the tensed muscles in his brow smoothing out and releasing whatever had caused him pain and consternation.

“Echoes of a life past,” Ikkaku muttered dazedly, his voice dark and deep. Yumichika’s fingers froze.

“ _Times_ past, you mean?”

Ikkaku shook his head. There was a long silent moment that was only broken by the eventual cawing of a crow. “What mean you by this?”

Ikkaku gave a small start, looking at Yumichika’s eyes helplessly, and he swallowed, throat suddenly unimaginably dry and inflamed. He tried to speak, but ended up shaking his head, for he was lost, he knew nothing of what he’d been grasping at a moment before or from what depths those awful words had come.

“Well,” Yumichika mumbled, seeming troubled, oh don’t let that beautiful face crease in a frown. Ikkaku whimpered and cautiously trailed his fingers against Yumichika’s forearm. Don’t be displeased, he hadn’t meant to cause upset. “Never mind that. I have an important task for you.”

Ikkaku nodded, the sick bad feeling slithering around in his stomach settling with the sense of purpose that overtook him. “Hisagi has gone, so you must pick up his slack.”

Gone?

Ikkaku’s head raised in alarm. Was this why Hisagi had not returned by this morn? Gone? He was gone? How came this? Yumichika did not seem especially distressed.

“Go out for fresh wood please, and don’t dawdle too long – I’m going to burn sage around the property at sundown.” Ikkaku’s pupils constricted and for a moment he ceased breathing, sure that he was about to come across some realization, but nothing came. “Yes?” Yumichika prompted when he didn’t respond, and Ikkaku boorishly nodded his head before biting into his forearm and grinding his teeth with a moody growl. "Hush."

Ikkaku released his jaw and a string of saliva connected his mouth an arm for a moment as he poked his head up, having hushed. Yumichika had something for him! Oh-

Yumichika placed Hisagi’s axe – _Hisagi’s axe –_ in Ikkaku’s reverent and disbelieving hands. “You will take this and use it to cut wood. Find small trees about this big around-” Yumichika demonstrated the circumference of his wrist before continuing with his concise instructions, “that are _dead_ , and hit the trunk of the tree with the axe until the tree falls. Then you will drag it back to the house and cut it into pieces for me to use in the p-” Yumichika stopped and exhaled, lips pressed together, before shaking his head minutely and turning his attention back on Ikkaku again. “The axe is for wood only. And you must bring it back. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Ikkaku repeated, staring at the blade that still gleamed despite its dull scratched surface.

“Wonderful. I will await your safe return.”

Wonderful it was, as Ikkaku quite enjoyed this job, but after dragging many a tree into a pile and letting his brain turn off to allow his body to slip into a mindless oblivion, he ventured further and further from the safety of their home. Once he finally blinked and seemed to return to conscious thought, registering that it was sundown, he decided to go home.

He soon found that he did not know which direction he had come from; he’d become lost. It was not that he could not see, no, he was quite comfortable here at dusk with the bats fluttering above him in the fireglow of the sky, but he could not find his way back home. Stupid, stupid – what was he to do now? Aghh, no, no, Yumichika was waiting for him!

Instinctively, after thinking of Yumichika’s reminder not to fool around after dark and to hurry home, Ikkaku spun on his heel thoughtlessly and started off without pause, strides long and certain. Yes, now he knew the way.

It soon became clear the closer he drew home, that it seemed inaccessible to him, since the air was thick with fog and choked with the most horrible smell imaginable. It made his eyes water and his very chest convulse; his throat completely closed up. Deciding that he must find another way, he was driven back, trying to walk around.

He wandered through the trees slowly and clumsily, walking from trunk to trunk and turning his head from side to side, although he knew not what he was looking for, as no tree looked different from another and he could recognize no landmarks to point him back home anymore. He’d been so sure of the way… Ah, but he had to get away from this smell. He couldn’t stand to catch even a single whiff more of it.

He stumbled on through the wood, the inside of his elbow pressed over his nose, his labored breaths being drawn through his mouth. Eventually, he escaped the last remnants of that horrible smell and caught a bit of another one, one he vaguely recognized. Fire-trail… fur… _tree blood!_

As he staggered towards it to investigate, sure enough, in the distance, wicked light danced in a ring of trees and the silence was broken by an eerie _thump_ and _chop_ sound that punctuated the gloom at intervals. Something was happening over there- he would go and see, yes, who was in Yumichika’s woods? Hisagi? Was he living out here now? Ahh, no, Hisagi was gone, Yumichika had said so. Who could it be? In all the time he’d been doing Yumichika’s bidding, he’d never set sight on another person- other than Hisagi and that bad man.

As he crept ever closer, the violent blows and tearing sounds stopped. He heard someone call, “Who’s there?” and the silence persisted for a few moments more. Then there came an “oh, just passing through? Late at night, isn’t it? . . . Hey, come to the fire where I can see you.”

Ikkaku did not know if he was being addressed directly, but curiosity overtook him. Ahh, he should be focused on nothing other than getting back to Yumichika. Everything else was of no consequence… and yet… Ikkaku did not know how to get home tonight. Maybe he could receive help.

He approached the horrible dancing shadows to see a man cast in a stark light by a crackling campfire. His chest was bare and streaked with… with…

Ikkaku’s stomach seized and his head throbbed horribly. An inhuman growl ripped from his throat before he was distracted from his mental block by the sight of the blood red mane. His eyes focused on the unknown individual – a young woodcutter in the forest, chopping wood at night. The bright red hair of the man reminded him starkly of the red mask of the bad man in the woods.

Ikkaku’s hand clenched tighter around the wooden handle of the axe.

Taking his eyes off the stranger, he looked down at it. He’d left the wood behind earlier, yet had held onto this.

‘ _Bring it back, Yumichika wants. Only chop wood. Come home. Don’t dawdle.’_

“Hail,” the man greeted with a friendly air, swinging his own long axe over his head and down onto a standing section of log, splitting it in half with a resounding crack. The noise did not startle Ikkaku, but brought him back to alertness. “I’m Renji. Where’re you headed so late?”

“Lost,” Ikkaku mumbled faintly, watching light flit over those black sigils streaked on his chest and belly like writhing dancing demons.

 _‘A curse, a curse,’_ something inside him shrieked, ‘ _do not touch, do not go near!’_ Ikkaku shied away a step or two, eyes narrowed suspiciously, hand clenching tighter around Yumichika’s axe. A powerful urge to cower and show his belly came over him, but he dug his toes into the ground. Why was this man near Yumichika’s lands? He should go away!

“Ahh, unfortunate,” Renji said, seeming not to notice his unease, a carefree smile spread on his kind face. His body glowed in the light of the fire, glistening with moisture. His hair, long and thick, stuck to his shoulders and forehead where it hung from its high tail. He was beautiful and wild, and Ikkaku felt like he knew him somehow, like how he’d known mother at first sight. “Can I help? Lost from where?”

“Lost my home,” Ikkaku found himself saying, the distrust in his heart easing. “Yes… yes, you help me... I must please find my home.”

“Alright, of course. Where do you live?” Renji said very slowly and clearly, his caring brown eyes glowing orange in the firelight.

“…” Ikkaku held his mouth open for a moment or so, trying to push out something, _anything_ , but no words would come. He took a half-step back from the clearing, breath finally escaping, but still with no sound.

“… With Yumichika,” Ikkaku finally answered. Renji’s smile disappeared like a match had been extinguished. Ikkaku was stared at for some time, and he took a few more steps back. He wanted Yumichika to be here – he didn’t know what to do.

Renji rested his elbow on the handle of his axe, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The fire spat and popped a few times before he cleared his throat and smiled again, although this time it didn’t brighten him. It merely stretched his face.

“I see. Well, I cannot lead you back there, but you’re welcome to rest by my fire until morning,” Renji offered, wiping his brow free of sweat and continuing with his work. A sudden gust of wind had him sighing and thanking Akarat for the night air. Ikkaku watched his hair move in the wind, and smelled the air. Besides the perspiration, Renji smelled strongly of wet animal. He could smell Hisagi too. Hisagi had been here…

Perhaps before he’d gone, he’d come here? Maybe this Renji had . . . had he? Ikkaku smelled and smelled, but the only blood he smelled was old and stale, and was not Hisagi's.

“Come warm yourself,” Renji urged, his smile kind and welcoming once more. He wiped his face again and fanned his body, before taking a shirt off of a nearby branch and slipping it on his arms and leaving the front open.

Ikkaku stood there stupidly for a few long moments until he shuffled forward and plopped down near the fire. Renji smiled a bit more, and subtly eased away from him, sitting on the other side. “Ah, wow, you smell like the dead,” he noted with a laugh, putting the back of his hand to his nose. “Shouldn’t surprise me, but, well… Ahh, blast, that’s really strong. Hey, friend, do you mind switching places so you’re downwind of me?” Ikkaku grunted and got onto his hands and knees, crawling around the fire. “Woah, careful… _Damn-_ Are, are you alright?”

Ikkaku popped his head up as he sat cross-legged on the other side, seeing that Renji was alarmed and staring at him with eyes that had white all the way around. “Your… your side… Doesn’t that hurt?”

Ikkaku blinked, looking off to his right into the dark trees, before back at Renji, whose mouth was ajar. It closed sharply when Ikkaku cocked his head. Renji cleared his throat again, letting out a high laugh. This man was very strange, not at all like Yumichika.

Ikkaku let out a rumbling sigh. Yumichika, Yumichika. He wished he were with him right now. He missed him, he missed him so much.

“So, ah, I’ve got a deer we can- . . . Oh!” Renji sat up straighter, looking off into the trees with a sudden grin.

Ikkaku didn’t know what he was doing here with this person. It vaguely registered that Yumichika had once told him to avoid strangers, particularly red men, but as soon as his mind drifted and he looked into the flames, he was magnetized, entranced.

Something happened then. Perhaps his heart gave a sudden jerk and began to pump more strongly, perhaps his sense of smell heightened or his perception altered or he’d been struck by lightning – whatever the case, Ikkaku could hear and feel a heartbeat that was not his own, feel and smell and taste blood pumping that ran not in his veins, could sense, could _breathe_ the mortality that belonged not to him.

Deep in his gut, intense hunger gnawed at him, a dark aching need to take and drink, to quench this neverending thirst, to draw power, to, to-

“There you be! I was growing worried!” Renji called, and Ikkaku startled, almost having forgotten he had company. It seemed there was yet another man, a young man with a particularly sullen face and a brown cloak that did not completely cover orange dandelion fluff growing from his head.

“Why have you camped so far south? It took me ages to find you.”

“I had to move upwind. Damn brushfires,” Renji grumbled. “And what of your delay?” He grew upset then, and Ikkaku lifted his head to stare mildly, blinking at him as he raged and gripped at his hair. “ _Blast_ , Ichigo, you scare me so! I was beginning to think you’d been-” he sputtered momentarily, “that one of those Zakarum-defectors had _attacked_ you.”

‘ _Zakarum,’_ Ikkaku’s mind echoed, and a door seemed to open, a black hole that birthed a litany of disgust, revulsion, and an instinctual hatred within him, as though his very soul-heart- _being_ cowered away from the light and teachings of Akarat, a name which had meant nothing to him before this moment. A pounding began to rise up through the base of his skull, pain and unease clenching around his brain like the steady beat of a hammer. Hisagi’s face appeared in his mind, the bad man, Yumichika’s words about Hisagi being a zealot… Master’s voice screaming that name, pleading, _anguished-_

Ikkaku took a deep breath through his nose, looking back up to Renji. He smelled even more strongly of Hisagi now that he had his shirt over his shoulders. Ikkaku drew onto his knees in a crouch before the flames, watching closely with dark glittering eyes.

“I met no one on the road,” was stated flatly by the newcomer. “My horse would not approach camp. I had to tie it at the river post and walk the rest of the way.”

“Ah, and here I thought it’d finally grown used to me,” Renji sighed exasperatedly. Ichigo did not smile.

“There are phantoms roaming about tonight,” he said seriously, laying down his pack.

“I’m just glad you’re here safe, Ichigo,” Renji asserted with a jovial smile, hopping up and walking towards him in greeting, stopping a few paces shy of touching him. Ikkaku looked at him for some time and his relieved and excited expression. This Ichigo merely grunted in response and glanced over at him, meeting his eyes unwaveringly for several long seconds; Ikkaku stared back. Recognition crossed Renji’s face when he noticed. “Oh, this is just- … Uh… I’m sorry, I didn’t ask your name,” he said sheepishly, looking to Ikkaku.

“Ikkaku,” he uttered simply.

“Ikkaku,” Renji repeated. “Lost in the night.” A bit quieter and closer to Ichigo’s ear, he informed, “A bit strange.”

‘ _Strange.’_ It registered a moment later that he had not been meant to hear his low voice, but Ikkaku’s hearing was actually quite good.

Another grunt. Ichigo cocked his head sideways, eyes still boring into his. His arms crossed were and one boot was scuffing the ground. Ikkaku could smell his nerves and distrust. “Where are you traveling? What was your course?”

“Home.” Ichigo and Renji shared a glance, a silence ensuing. Ikkaku looked away, back into the pit of coals.

Renji leaned towards Ichigo again, quite close actually, and Ichigo slapped a hand up to his ear and pushed Renji away sharply. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Just need to speak with you,” Renji muttered, putting a hand back on Ichigo’s shoulder and leaning in again. Ichigo was tense, but offered his ear by inclining his head forward slightly. This time, Ikkaku could not make out the low mumbling, and after a time, Ichigo pulled back and glanced towards Renji with a crease in his brow. “We’ll be back shortly,” Renji said with a smile directed to Ikkaku, who watched as they walked off quite some distance into the brush and stood talking and occasionally glancing back to him.

Once they came back, they had seemed to accept his presence and began speaking of other things. Renji eagerly inquired as to Ichigo’s latest exploits, and Ichigo gave succinct rather abrupt answers, not even bothering to look at him – his aloof attitude was very clear. Renji would not be discouraged, his gaze unwavering.

Eventually, Ichigo turned the conversation round. “What about you?” he inquired, his brow furrowed, a deep frown set in his face. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with that handsome woodsman.”

Nonchalant and dismissive, Renji waved a hand, edging closer to Ichigo as he had many times before. However, he simply seemed to motion as though he was scooting in, but in reality never grew close enough to breach their distance entirely. “I only do so in your absence; I’d much rather be with you.”

“Well,” came the hesitant and rather stilted answer, following a punctuated silence. Ichigo cleared his throat. “… What’s his name again?”

“Eh, don’t worry yourself with that,” Renji insisted, looking at him so longingly and with such tender care that some part of Ikkaku sensed the weakness in that kind but jovial tone, sensed the underlying despair and the hopeless dream. “I know you’re too busy with your new family.” There was a minute pause in which pain seemed to choke the air.

Ikkaku gripped his ears as he heard that heartbeat that was not his grow deafening, strong and frantic. Ichigo swallowed and looked away, his cheeks pink from the heat of the fire, surely. His hands clenched in the grass. The noise grew louder still, _ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum-_ Ikkaku couldn’t stand it.

A loud spark popped from the fire, a little dot of glowing orange landing on Ikkaku’s foot. He watched it, amazed at its lifelike metamorphosis into a black bit of dust. The silence between the two men stretched a bit longer, until Renji broke it.

“How- how does your child fare?” came an eagerly excited yet dread-ridden query, and the noise subsided somewhat. Ichigo’s face turned back up a bit towards Renji. “Do his eyes open yet? Does he smile?”

Ikkaku’s gaze drew back to the live coals, and he thought of Yumichika, Yumichika, Yumichika out there in the night. Did he realize his absence? Did he grow angry?

“Yes, he is doing well. A stronger infant was never birthed…” Ichigo’s voice was low and grim, “but my wife grows ill. The cause for my delay.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Renji replied, but he did not look sorry in the least. “You can always come to me.”

“I’d rather not speak on that now.”

Ikkaku knew not how long he sat there enthralled by the wild dance of the tendrils of smoke and flame, but at some point it began to flicker there, something dark and terrifying, just for fractions of a second, interrupting his normal vision. Some horrid face was reaching out to him from the beyond, screaming and howling for freedom, for vengeance, for, for his blood, for his allegiance-

‘ _An offering for Baphomet!’_

_‘NO!’_

Ikkaku hurled back from the fire with a startled gasp, to find Ichigo staring at him with hard eyes. The noise had grown loud and fast once again, nearly deafening. Ikkaku stared back, pupils dilating. His nostrils flared and his mouth filled with saliva. The noise had grown painfully familiar, the rhythm beating out the time to the song of mankind and the universe.

Ikkaku must silence it.

Renji reached a hand out, not having noticed what had transpired. “Ichigo-”

Ichigo’s head whipped back to him and his arm struck Renji’s back in a lightning-quick gesture of repulsion before it could brush against his face. The motion sent another puff of air wafting in his direction, and Ikkaku half-sat up in a sudden jolt. He was _parched_ beyond measure or tolerance, as though he’d been eating sand, as though, as though the flames had licked his throat – he must drink.

“You forget yourself,” he hissed, glancing quickly to Ikkaku, who wasn’t paying much attention to their little exchange. Whether anything untoward had happened, Ikkaku was none the wiser, and none too interested, far more focused on the sudden blare of noise, the sudden sharp increase in volume, the beat accelerating almost out of control- Ikkaku felt he might die!

Renji, unperturbed by the oblivious audience, gazed back at Ichigo without wavering, his smile having finally faded to a sober countenance. “I forget nothing,” he intoned, the ensuing stretch in which a reply should have come swallowed up by the crackling of the fire.  
  
There was a long tense silence in which they seemed to be having some sort of staredown. It wasn’t clear who the winner was, as they both broke eye contact at nearly the same moment.

“Phantoms,” Ikkaku suddenly mumbled, once again staring, bewitched, into the flame after his eyes had strayed from Ichigo. The disturbed and frantic pounding calmed considerably. “In the wood tonight? Phantoms… roam free?” His dazed unblinking eyes focused on another imagined writhing figure in the pit of flame, his body twitching, hand half reaching towards it before halting. Phantoms – was Yumichika safe on his own tonight? Neither he nor Hisagi were there and Yumichika was alone.

Ichigo cleared his throat, glancing uncomfortably to Renji once again, who seemed to have lapsed into a stoic silence, for he gave no response, verbal or otherwise. Sensing the lack of both encouragement and dissent, Ichigo spoke alone.

“Yes,” he confirmed, voice becoming low and serious, hesitant. “There have been sinister happenings.”

“After Arreat blew,” Renji muttered, tossing his head to the side, avoiding anyone’s eyes, “and that whole legion of darkness crawled out and just… decimated everything, the coven had a resurgence.”

“Coven,” Ikkaku echoed.

“The men that brought about _the End of Days_ ,” Ichigo voiced sharply, “or that tried to. Thank the stars they were thwarted.”

“Thank Akarat.”

“Anyways, they’re in shambles by this time, but their remaining followers are roaming the borderlands . . . I plan to travel. After the massacre in Alcarnus, I’ll not settle my family anywhere near those zealots. Just as soon as she’s well again…”

“The phantoms,” Ikkaku repeated again to himself, very quietly.

He swallowed his excess saliva down, his eyes flicking about as he tried to pin down this strange presence. If he thought on it very hard, when he’d been near Hisagi, he’d felt a whisper of some sort, along with the bad man - and with Yumichika, nothing. However, right now, in the company of these strangers, blood was thrumming in him and a heartbeat was drowning his thoughts. It was filling his ears, trying to tell him something, something, something about what he was and what he was meant to be doing.

“Yes, out in the hills… They say this place is being punished for something someone evil did long ago… I don’t put much stock in it, but strange things do happen here.”

Ikkaku stared into the fire. As he watched, darkness began flickering through the flames once more. Strange things?  
  
‘ _Great Baphomet, accept this pure host-’_

_‘No, no! Please!’_

 

Ikkaku thrust his hand into the pit and grabbed a fistful of coals, watching as his arm turned lovely red. A wild laugh ripped from his throat. Yes, let's see Akarat save him now.

 

.               .               .

  
  
Just before the sun rose the next morning, Ikkaku warily circled a barrier of ash, the horrid stench still thick in the air. His hand clenched tightly over his nose, he wandered back and forth along its edge, searching for a patchy spot in which he could perhaps step through without having to pass over.

For the greater part of the night, one of the two men who had helped him had sat awake and kept their fire going – at least, that’s what they'd pretended. In reality, one would sit up and watch him where he slept on the ground. The other had lain in fitful sleep or periods of wakefulness in which they’d lie with their eyes closed in a fruitless effort to fall back into slumber. Eventually, there came the inevitable mumbling, _‘It’s not sleeping.’_

 _‘Why’d you invite it near in the first place? I still can’t believe he leapt in the fire like that.’_ Their comments did nothing to disturb his calm rest as he listened mildly. ‘ _He’ll surely die from those sores.’_

 _‘Are you sure he’s still alive? He hasn’t moved.’_ A faint rustling, and Ikkaku felt a presence hovering over his side, a low curse… ‘ _Ichigo, look at this.’_ Another rustle, and a long silence. ‘ _Completely healed.’_ Silence that lasted so long, Ikkaku grew curious at what was going on around him. He could hear nothing but the fire.

_‘You should’ve driven him off.’_

_‘I didn’t realize until he’d already gotten too close,’_ Renji muttered, and Ikkaku heard the both of them creep away and ease down together. After a few quiet moments of settling, they began to hiss to each other in what bordered on hilarity.

_‘Looks like the dead.’_

_‘_ Smells _like the dead.’_

_‘Smells why?’_

_‘You don’t smell that?’_ came the incredulous statement. A pause in which a deep intake of breath could be clearly heard. The thumping noise in Ikkaku’s ears sang, easy and content.

_‘All I smell is wet dog.’_

Silence.

‘ _Ichigo, truly, how does she fare?’_

_‘ . . . Not well. If I tell the truth of my heart, I wouldn’t place faith on her survival.’_

Renji was hesitantly quiet for a long while. ‘ _And then… and then will you still take your son away upon her death? You will still go? . . . Could you not stay with me?’_

Stretching silence, a pop of the fire, a final rustle of clothing and grass, and then nothing.

Ikkaku had lain with his eyes closed until they had gone completely quiet and the thumping noise had calmed and slowed to a crawl for a long long time, and had then sat up promptly at the caw of a crow. He had to get back to Yumichika. Leaving the glittering coals behind after squatting beside them for a few long minutes and then walking around the two men, one of whom had moved suspiciously close to the other in their slumber, Ikkaku had picked up his axe and observed a stiff deer corpse hanging from a high branch. He’d then walked home with the same conviction of the night before, and as he’d left the camp, the pulsating and the noise that had plagued him disappeared completely like it had never existed – with it went all the strange feelings and echoes of the past that had called to him the night before. He’d continued on, not thinking on it further, and had only come to stop once he’d met with the black barrier smudging the grass and tree trunks in a perimeter wider than anticipated.

He could see a rosy glow on the very edge of the horizon. Soon the light would come.

Finally he found a patch of grass where the ash was disturbed from some small animal’s footsteps, having ruffled the grass clean enough that Ikkaku felt comfortable sliding through and continuing home.

As he approached within sight of the cabin, an incredible sense of shame overtook him. What a fool he was, becoming so distracted that he’d forgotten his task and grown completely lost for an entire night. Yumichika ought to lash him for his incompetence. Not only that, but he’d disobeyed his warning to avoid strangers. Ikkaku would punish himself harshly for this grievance.

Nearing the door, a breeze passed him, ruffling his clothes, and he smelled that Hisagi was nearby, his natural scent laced thick with blood and wolf pelt. He was alive then? All the more reason for Yumichika to be angry with him. He hadn’t completed the work that he’d wanted him to take care of in Hisagi’s absence. Hanging his head, Ikkaku knocked on the door and bowed low when it opened almost immediately.

Fully expecting a sound beating and scolding, Ikkaku was fully taken by surprise when Yumichika’s hands laid upon his shoulders and straightened him up, drawing him one step into the house. “There you are! I was so worried when you did not return,” Yumichika gasped, his voice exasperated and relieved. “I thought you would not come back. I thought perhaps something terrible had happened.” Ikkaku could not look at him. He’d worried Yumichika, he’d failed him, he’d upset him. He could not face him.

“Oh Ikkaku, look me in the eye, sweeting.”

Ikkaku tried to say that he could not, that he was too ashamed, but Yumichika ran a knuckle under his chin, encouraging him to lift his face, and Ikkaku did so. His heart ached with self-disappointment that he’d proven so unworthy of Yumichika’s kindness.

He took the final step into the house, and as his eyes met with Yumichika’s violet ones, he saw them immediately sharpen; Yumichika’s jaw relaxed and his nostrils flared. “Who have you met with?” he suddenly demanded, his tone completely changing, nail digging into Ikkaku’s chin. The axe that had still hung in his hand clattered to the floor.

“Yumichika!” came an unsteady shout from outside, and Yumichika turned from him, releasing him after a moment and then drawing back into the house.

Ikkaku’s hackles raised as Hisagi staggered up to the house, as it was immediately clear that something was wrong with him. He was threatening and confrontational, his demeanor extremely aggressive, and it put Ikkaku on edge. As he approached and crossed the threshold, he and Yumichika had both retreated several paces, and the stench of blood grew yet thicker, all of it alarmingly fresh.  Wherever he had been and whoever with, something dark had taken place. Yumichika was breathing through his mouth, seeming to have noticed it too.

“Does your jealousy know no bounds? That you’d _poison yourself_ to keep him away? It’s not bad enough that you’ve _cursed him?_ ” He immediately got right in Yumichika’s face, wasting no time in beginning an argument. Ikkaku crouched back away from them, nearer to the floor, watching as Yumichika straightened up and glared back.

“ _My_ jealousy?”

“Ah,” Hisagi growled, his hands snapping upwards and then falling back down to slap against his legs in a gesture of false nonchalance. “Of course, my jealousy. It all comes back to me and my jealousy. What, jealous of that _thing?_ ” He careened closer to Yumichika, who leaned away in that moment of near collision. “When you’ve still not sent it away yet routinely shun my affection, and it receives more of your regard than I despite it being a _monster_ , what reason would I _have_ to be jealous?”

Ikkaku crept closer to Yumichika’s legs, hugging one half-protectively, half-fearfully, glaring up at Hisagi with one eye, the other pressed against Yumichika’s thigh. Hisagi was very angry and loud this time – usually he saved that for him and didn’t direct his venom at Yumichika. Ikkaku shuffled out a bit around the side of Yumichika’s leg, as if to offer his body for Hisagi to kick and beat if only he would place his rage on him and forsake Yumichika.

“And what reason would _I_ have to be jealous, seeing as you positively _flaunt_ your affair right under my nose and make no secrets of it, Shuuhei. You haven’t bothered to even _lie_ about it for nigh a _year._ You spend all your time out of the house doing Akarat knows what with those, those twisted _heirophants_ , and when you’re not doing that, you’re lying with _dogs,_ and then you wonder why _I don’t want to catch your fleas._ ”

There was a fraction of an instant in which Hisagi reacted as though he’d been touched with lightning, but then it was over and Hisagi had struck Yumichika in the mouth, who stumbled back a pace. His leg knocking against Ikkaku where he just gaped helplessly. Shuuhei had struck Yumichika! He’d really struck his face! There was- there was _blood!_

Yumichika wiped a drop of red off his lip and was caught in a brief struggle with Shuuhei, who hadn’t backed off after the initial blow, having grabbed him by the upper arms and hauled him forwards. After Yumichika had fought Shuuhei off momentarily and backed away with his hands up, Ikkaku crawled towards them and placed himself between them at Yumichika’s feet, a feral snarl ripping from his chest. Shuuhei screamed in his face, flinging a hand towards Ikkaku’s bared teeth and crazed eyes.

“Divert all you want, but that _thing_ has to be banished, Yumichika!”

“I won’t!” Yumichika refused.

“Be _reasonable_ ,” Hisagi seethed, “Don’t let your pettish spite be your end. If its caster be gone and he’s sentient as you say, then you _know_ what has to be done!” He gestured towards Ikkaku again, who clung to Yumichika’s middle, attempting to shield him and keep Hisagi away. Yumichika was struggling to pry his arms off and kick him away to the corner, but Ikkaku gripped onto him fiercely despite Yumichika’s thrashing. “Just because you want so badly to hurt me back, you’ll put your life in danger? It’s already taken in too much human blood if it’s fooled you into believing it has a scrap of humanity in it.”

The light of the dawn that had just begun to creep over the horizon cast a dark stark shadow over Hisagi’s face. As his chin dipped down, his eyes became black holes. He hissed darkly, “You know what I have to do, so stand down!” A dagger extended from his palm, as cold and deadly as the rest of him.

Finally, Yumichika succeeded in loosing himself from Ikkaku’s grip in a burst of inhuman strength and a harsh scream. Ikkaku was beaten back, but dove for his ankle and held on despite being knocked in the face for his troubles.

“I don’t care!” Yumichika shrieked in Hisagi’s face, spit flying and angry tears pricking in his eyes. “I won’t let you stand there and force me into solitude again while you live your crooked perverted life as you please! _Do you hear me, I won't let you make me wait for you alone anymore!_ ”

Hisagi seemed to be drained of anger again, shoulders slumping, and his voice going small and fragile, pitiful really. “Alone? ... Do I really mean so little to you that you need the company of… of... Yumichika, I’ll be here still. You’ll have _me._ ” He swallowed heavily as Yumichika’s heaving gasps of rage became barely contained sobs. “That’s not solitude,” he croaked, voice cracking.

“You’re not who you were,” Yumichika choked out, tears running silently down his cheeks. “You cannot quench my loneliness.” The note of despair in his voice became bitter pique. “Just give it up. It’s too late. You lost me when you lost yourself.”

He then lifted a hand in front of him, palm-down, and clenched it, fingers contorting. Immediately there came a distant rumbling that slowly increased in volume, the house and the very _ground_ beginning to tremble and glow with a foreboding and sinister light. Ikkaku whimpered, seized with fear, cowering under the table, watching as Yumichika’s hair and other light bits of paper, feathers, and dust around the room whipped around despite the lack of wind.

A strange light was building outside, the earth seeming to howl its rage.

“No,” Hisagi said, eyes wide and severe where they were locked onto Yumichika’s dark sneer. “No, _no!”_ he repeated, taking a step towards Yumichika, whose countenance had become so cruel and sharp, demonic almost, that Ikkaku hid his head against the floor under his hands. In response to the advance, Yumichika simply closed his fist, and a resounding crack echoed through the ground, a fissure appearing in the floorboards and traveling out into the dirt outside. A humongous grumble shook the house, and Ikkaku curled up in a ball, keening.

Hisagi had lost all semblance of composure, because he screamed and tore at his hair, completely unhinged, “I gave you blood, Yumichika, _I gave you my blood, and this is how you treat me?!”_

The whole house was shuddering, the cupboard doors banging on the hinges and the thick curtains whipping in the directionless vortex of energy. Voice echoing eerily around him from several directions like the fluttering of bat wings in an underground cave, Ikkaku moaned as Yumichika sardonically sneered, “Oh, pardon me, was that blood so special? The blood you now freely give to the coven?”

“ _GET OUT!”_ Hisagi hollered, and with a bang, the door flew open, the grumbling of the earth stopped, and Yumichika was hurled out of the house and into the swaying grass.

The sun peeked its head above the trees through a tiny gap in the thick clouds, and in the dim light of the dawn, Yumichika lifted his head from his sprawled position on the lawn and raised a hand to block his eyes. As the rays hit him, he turned towards them and screamed in absolute agony, clawing his way over the ground and reaching back for the safety of the house.

With the thundering of the earth having subsided, Ikkaku’s head whipped up, and before his very eyes, he watched as Yumichika shrieked and writhed, and in a matter of moments, shriveled up into dust in a blast of light, and was blown away on the slight breeze.

Yumichika was gone.

A moment of silence, a moment more. Ikkaku straightened up onto his knees, breathing heavily, blinking once, twice, several more times in rapid succession as tears dripped unabated from his eyes.

It took some time to set in, but when it did, it ignited such vicious rage within him that Ikkaku thought it would never be quenched. His fists clenched and he stared at the place where Yumichika had been in the distance only moments before, howling in pain as his skin had corroded and withered into nothingness. “You killed him,” he said dully.

He stood in the wreckage of the trashed cabin and stared past Hisagi where he partially blocked the doorway to the place where Yumichika had perished right before his eyes. Yumichika was gone, just like Master. Hisagi had killed him, he’d let him die.

Instead of the intense pain and sorrow that Master’s death had caused him, hatred and murderous savagery took hold of Ikkaku’s body and choked him with grief. “ _You killed him!”_ he howled, not wasting  more than a moment screaming before he lunged.

Hisagi quickly dove to the side and Ikkaku was sent careening into the yard. He frantically crawled forwards and dug his hands carefully through the grass and then raised them to his face, as if maybe he could find some of the residue, some of the dust that had once been Yumichika. White powder coated his hands like the dust on the wings of the dead flower-moth. Yumichika was little more than sand. Killed him, killed him, Hisagi had killed him, _killed his precious, his only reason to- the only one who’d tried to- and now he had-_

Ikkaku leapt up and turned, roaring once more, wrathful anger giving him strength through his boundless grief. He tensed his shoulders and rolled them, bones cracking in his back as his neck and spine contorted. Hisagi’s alarmed and pale face was only encouragement. Ikkaku would rend the flesh from his bones.

“Dead,” Ikkaku growled. “Yumichika is _dead!_ ” he barked.

Hisagi drew two fingers along his forearm with a sudden curl of his lip. “Why don’t you go back to hell with him?!” he shouted, and threw his hand towards the ground. Ikkaku immediately shied backwards, forearms flung up in front of his eyes to block out the blinding white-hot light. It felt as though his very skin were searing off, and he stumbled back a few more paces, cowering away.

Ikkaku cried out, crawling for safety, for relief from this pain and unbearable bright light, but it did not subside. It merely strengthened, beating him back. “ _Go!_ ” he heard Hisagi yell after him, his voice wavering and then breaking once. “Get out of here!” he demanded, before ending in a snarl, “before I fucking kill you too!”

‘ _Please, take me instead! Please! Mercy!’_

_‘Let go, fool girl, before I kill you too!_ _’_

_'No! Please, Akarat, no!'_

_'Yes, let's see Akarat save you now.'_

Ikkaku let out an enraged agonized scream, eyes clenched shut and hands clamped over his ears. Hisagi sent one last burst of heat and bright and _pain_ after him before he finally got up and unknowingly stumbled north into the foggy mire of the blood marsh.  
  


.               .               .  
  
  


Running blind through the dank gloom, Ikkaku gasped for breath between exertion and harsh moans of pain and anguish. The grief, while dissimilar to the physical burning and the deep ache of mother’s death, had completely eclipsed that of his first loss. The pain and misdirection he felt at the absence of Yumichika’s guidance and the love he’d had for him was unbearable. The questions and fears that ran through his mind weren’t to do with what he would do now or where he would go, how he would live, but a repeated mantra of _Yumichika is dead, dead, he was killed, he is gone, gone, gonegonegone, never see him again, never hear his voice-_

An enraged choked scream ripped loose and shot out of his throat as he splashed shin-deep through purplish scummy water. He bashed his side on a tree in his blind wandering and stumbled over into the murk, coughing as water went up his mouth and nose. He tried to wipe it, still groaning and keening and verbalizing his loss. Yumichika dead, dead and gone. Ikkaku would never see him again.

The white powder coating his hands would not wash clean in this disgusting filthy water. Ikkaku stomped off through the marsh, clutching at his chest and tearing his clothes. Scraps of fabric would occasionally fall behind him as he stumbled over the tangled vines and hidden rocks and crevices hidden beneath the wet morass.

The smell of blood was everywhere, surrounding him, choking him. His fury built the longer he aimlessly wandered, the more lost he became, the more he brooded over Yumichika’s departure. He spent the day this way, growing more enraged by the hour, and as dusk approached and the more his mantra continued, the quicker he eventually realized that there was indeed a chant going on somewhere in the far distance, and the noise he’d heard last night was pumping like the beat of war drums.

Lights twinkling far in the murk, the thick smell of burning aromatic plants, and dark swirling energy calling to the beyond - all beckoned him with an eerie sense of familiarity and belonging.

A sudden splash sounded behind him and coated his back in murky water. A deranged cry in his ear and a harsh blow between his shoulder blades alerted him to the ceremonial blade sticking out of him and the blood gushing down his spine a moment after it had planted itself there.

Iris constricting, Ikkaku’s arm whipped out behind him before his head even bothered to turn and smashed the skull of his attacker against his kneecap, coating it with shattered bits of bone and gore, and then hurling the body against a tree.

He wasn’t satisfied with that though. A droplet of his blood may be put to rest with the slaughter of one in the highland woods, but a gaping wound in this eerie swamp would not be contained to one death, and Ikkaku immediately honed in on the direction of the chanting.

 _‘Ritual, coven, seance_ -’ flitted across his mind too quickly to be processed, for he had already interrupted their dark deeds and distracted them from their casting with his lunge for the throat of the nearest summoner. A choked scream escaped before it was ended by a sharp crunch and a sick ripping sound. The war drum from before went abruptly silent, and a vessel that was strung from a tree by iron spikes went limp, its blonde hair hanging like a dead leaf.

For a time, his body moved without conscious thought, and he seemed to just be an observer to the litany of splashes and screams, the sprays of blood and the sounds of flesh tearing off bones. Wails of pain were silenced by his unfeeling hands and he watched unblinking as the red covered everything and the quiet swallowed the sounds of the struggle until nothing remained. Their ring of dozens had been reduced to a swirling torrent of murky water and the occasional red bit of cloth or white hand peeking out of the gloom.

Ikkaku stood there silently for a moment, a moment more, simply staring unaffected at the carnage, the several empty bodies, naked and starved, that had been half-transformed by the hideously cruel magic of the cultists.  _'A thrall summoning.'_

Ikkaku stared and stared at all the dead, and felt nothing, nothing but the extinguished fire at the pit of his heart.

The last reeled up from the dark water to be immediately caught with his hand at their throat. “Who, who is your caster? Where did they find the spell- where did they draw their power?” Ikkaku stared down at their chalky face with wide eyes, his pupils mere pinpricks and his mouth a thin line.

“The blood of hundreds, the blood of demons-” they choked, reaching for his face with a muddy arm, their lips and teeth struggling through their last breaths. “ _You are – revenge_.”

With a cracking sound and the wet bloom of a red flower, their spine messily snapped through the front of their neck, and Ikkaku promptly dropped them into the swamp, where the murk immediately swallowed them with a black splash. The water around his legs was red, and Ikkaku swallowed as he braced his back against the trunk of a tree and blinked rapidly, some sort of detached frenzy releasing its talons from his heart.

Helplessness and despair overtook him in a subdued panic, and Ikkaku bent over, legs pressed against his chest. He rested his head on his knees, his bloody hands sealed against his scalp.

What was he to do now?

‘ _Revenge?’_ a small childish voice inquired, ‘ _What revenge? I am a promise- a promise to, to… to who?’_

The slick of his palms slowly dribbled down between his eyes and over his cheeks, and after digging his blunt nails into his head, he brought his hands where he could see them, blinking at the blood between his fingers and rolling up his forearms, having grown cakey and slimy from the powder that still clung onto him.

With a jolt and a snarl, Ikkaku lunged forward into the black carcass-ridden swamp and thrust his arms before him, scrubbing at them viciously, pulling and prying at the sticky mess and clawing at his skin until he eventually collapsed on a fallen log, heaving for breath.

‘ _Get up,’_ blew past his ear through the heavy chatter of insects and the hum of the mists. Ikkaku shook his head involuntarily, a wounded sound escaping him. His body trembled uncontrollably, the trauma of the past hours holding him captive to his helpless convulsions.

 _‘Get up and come to me.’_ He moaned out a sob fruitlessly, lurching to a stand and taking a few shaky steps, stumbling on through the dank fog.

 ‘ _There in the dark, yes, keep going.’_

“Where,” Ikkaku choked, chest heaving, shaking arms clutching at his middle as he wandered blind.

‘ _Will you open your eyes?’_

“Master, where are you, I hear- I hear, I come,” he slurred, his weakened body succumbing to exhaustion and dropping him to a mere crawl.

‘ _Oh, such a sweet boy…’_

With a shuddering gasp, Ikkaku started forward with a cry, sparked with energy. His eyes brightened and he scrambled up and broke into a dead run, ignoring broken nails and skin rubbed raw from climbing over rough vines and rocks and scraping against bark.

The puddles began to break and reveal wet ground, and there in the dappled sunlight, a flash of white showed Ikkaku what he knew would be there. He hurled himself to the earth and with a overwhelmed cry born of both joy and despair, knelt anxiously at the side of this heaving mass of living flesh.

Body disfigured by horrible burns, there he lay in the shadows, face-up in the wet dirt and moss, breath rasping weakly through bloody lips. As Ikkaku watched, red raw sores and glistening open pockets of flesh slowly healed in the safety of the darkness and the cool air of dusk.

“Yumichika,” Ikkaku said stupidly, unable to anything but repeat this a few times and hold his hands above Yumichika’s body, which was a litany of open wounds and reeked of pain and suffering – _longing_ to touch him but finding he could not bring himself to. “Yumichika- Yumichika,” he whimpered, leaning over him and carefully laying hands on his upper arms.

The flesh felt wet with pus and was hot and feverish, moving and rending from the bones easily like overcooked meat. Yumichika gave a cracked gasp and the ghost of a moan, and Ikkaku dragged his limp underweight body into his arms, cradling his head in his hands. Ikkaku stroked Yumichika’s face with his thumbs, ghosting over his cheeks and his bloody lips, tugging at the lower one when his nail caught against it just barely. Blood overflowed from his full mouth and ran down his cheek and neck to the ground. Yumichika’s eyes drifted open for a second, rolling aimlessly under the hooded lids.

"You escaped him... Oh, I'm so glad... so glad, Ikkaku."

“I thought you were dead and gone,” Ikkaku whispered brokenly, leaning close enough that their noses were inches away from brushing as he held Yumichika’s face as though it were unimaginably precious. “Destroyed by sunlight.”

Yumichika spat up a mouthful of blood, and Ikkaku simply held onto him despite the warm gush running over his hands. The cracked and fragile breath lifting Yumichika’s emaciated and enflamed chest was all he could focus on. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Yumichika rasped, “but that doesn’t matter now. You should have let me die.”

Ikkaku’s mouth pulled down in a ghastly grimace, a deep moan rising up from within. Yumichika was in pain, so so much pain, and Ikkaku didn’t know what to do. He would think to offer blood, but Yumichika was expelling so much of it from his mouth, and nose his streaming nose that he didn’t know if it would stay in if Yumichika took it.

Yumichika raised a shaking wet arm, layers of soaked blistered skin hanging and sloughing off with sickening slaps as they landed on his bare abdomen. A weak smile stretched his bloody cheeks, causing splits to appear in his face. All his flesh was so fragile and newly formed that Ikkaku felt if he even touched him too roughly, he could end this life with frightening ease. “Each time we meet you’re covered in blood again, messy child,” Yumichika mumbled fondly as Ikkaku gently lowered Yumichika’s arm and then held him protectively in his lap, curling around him.

He didn’t know what to do for him, he didn’t know how to help, to save him, to protect him from dying in his arms as Master had. All he could do was rock and moan and rub his head against Yumichika and beg him not to die, please don’t die.

“Ikkaku,” Yumichika rasped, “Ikkaku.” Ikkaku whimpered his attention when Yumichika tried to impress on him that he had to listen to these words, because they were important and may not have the chance to be spoken for much longer. “You can never belong to this world.”

Ikkaku shook his head, trying to speak, but he found that his brain had completely shut off in response to this. Even… even Yumichika thought that he was- that he should…?

“Your kind are an abomination of nature,” Yumichika whispered, his wet hand coming back up to Ikkaku’s face, trembling and sticking to Ikkaku’s bloody cheek. “You must be banished if you are not to be killed.”

Ikkaku wrapped his slick fingers through Yumichika’s and held them to his face. “I knew this,” he choked, a bubble of blood popping against his teeth after it arose from his throat and still leaking mouth. “I just hadn’t the heart to do it. I’ve been lonely for so long,” he confessed. “Even meeting Shuuhei… such bittersweet taste.” His eyes closed and his chest rose and fell with frail shaky gasps. His words grew slow with his labored breaths, “And yet here you are, abject innocence, fresh and clean, you can take any path, uninfluenced and… and beautiful.”

The whites of Yumichika’s eyes were tinged with rust from the inflamed capillaries, his bloody lips having crusted over, the rush of fluid over the edge of his mouth having finally abated. “I could not help myself . . . and so you must go away, far away. Go away from this place and live in banishment,” he implored.

“Banished where?” Ikkaku breathed helplessly, still clinging to Yumichika as if to deny that he’d have to let him go if Yumichika ordered him away. “I can’t go away, Yumichika, please. I don’t know where to go or even how I can _be?_ Or what I am.”

“Of course you don’t. You weren’t meant to be sentient. With your master gone… No, your master being gone and you still living is unheard of. Your spirits are linked. They must still live, Ikkaku.”

“No,” Ikkaku said, shaking his head. “I see it with my eyes, master died,” he slurred, shying away from the very memory because of the pain it caused him. He still missed her dearly, her gentle warmth and the smile, the rock of her arms and the sweet press of her kiss to his forehead . . . The…

That had never happened.

Yumichika interrupted his troubling realization with a disbelieving frown. “Ikkaku, that cannot be. You were mistaken.”

“No. She is gone,” Ikkaku insisted, even though everything in his being told him to always agree with Yumichika. This was not true. He had not been mistaken. Master was dead.

Yumichika struggled to breathe for a few more moments, pondering this in silence, before finally uttering, “You were created for a strange, strange purpose.” The small crease to his brow set in his exhausted face was more disheartening than anything else.

Would he be alright? Was he dying? Ikkaku held him tenderly, selfishly pressing him against his chest so that if these were their last moments together, they would be close. Yumichika gave a pained gasp, shuddering, his bare body doing its best to repair. His shins and forearms were no longer wet or blistered, instead becoming dry and scaly, peeling and bright bright pink rather than the alarming translucent and thick layers of wet flesh that Ikkaku had found him with and that still were present on areas of body fat, such as his shoulders and thighs, this skin beneath his ribs.

Ikkaku whimpered, voice soft and fragile, _gentle_ but desperate. Yumichika was so weak in his arms, like the faint flutterings of the flower-moth. If he was too loud or too fast in any movement or sound, Yumichika would wither and fade, he would go away and be gone just like the small insect he’d held too tightly.

“But what _am_ I?”

The resounding silence seemed to echo forever.

Yumichika smiled gently, and Ikkaku barely contained another moan of despair. “You are very very special,” Yumichika told him, his breathing so desperately weak that Ikkaku gripped him in panic, bringing him closer to his face as if to savor what he was terrified could be his last words, “and I’m glad we crossed paths… even for such a short time.”

“But what am I for? What am I meant to do?” Ikkaku implored helplessly. Why did everyone seem to know what he was except for him? They knew and they kept it from him – why would no one _tell_ him? Why did Yumichika not tell him?

_Whywhywhy-_

“One day you’ll know the answer,” came the fading whisper.

“No,” Ikkaku denied, shaking his head, voice cracking in fear, “I need help, Yumichika.”

“One day you’ll know.”


End file.
